Redemption
by duffie83
Summary: re·demp·tion noun : 1. The act of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil. 2. Recovery of something pawned, mortgaged, or lost.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Clarice Starling stood in Milan's fading light, lashes casting spiked shadows across her cheek, and what a stranger might call "smile lines" etched around her mouth. Those few souls that really knew her could explain that they were from years of her pursed lip look of determination. Starling was forty-three, looked her age, and made that age look damn good.

Nearly night now; the better to stalk her prey.

The hunt had consumed her these last six months, but it had been a decade in the coming. Because of him she'd had ten years longer on this earth than Christ; a fact she noted only because she knew he would. What had she done with them? For a few of them she'd continued to resentfully serve her equally resentful master; then on a Tuesday morning as shards of consciousness broke through her dreams she registered her resignation letter had been drafted in her mind for quite some time. It took her all of five minutes to type it up. And a day without a single second thought to submit it.

**A/N~ Greetings fellow fanficers. What you've just read is the beginning of a writing collaboration between a dear cyberbuddy, MajorBachman, and me. We're following the trusty creative writing method of round-robin authoring. Hope you enjoy the ride ;o) **


	2. Chapter 1a

_Hello there, dearest readers and fans. Duffie & Major Bachman's shared fic is GO!_  
><em>The prologue was written by Duffie, so this part was written by me, Major Bachman. We'll add markers so it'll be clear who wrote what. Enjoy!<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1a<strong>

[Major Bachman]

To her surprise, the private investigation business she decided to dive into turned out to be more lucrative than she'd imagined. Like moths are attracted to light, new cases seemed to find their way to her door as by magic. It wasn't that she hadn't anticipated her past would attract clients, but it seemed her past was about her sole business card. Nearly all her clients referred to it. With a wry smile, she accepted the compliments the new customers flattered her with, sometimes nearly begging her to take their case.

Many cases turned out to be quite simple, only a few turned out to be somewhat difficult. But never really difficult jobs, always quickly solved and well paid. Her bank accounts showed numbers they never had before. Her decision had worked out perfectly.

And then there was this latest case. By means of a stooge, Clarice had been approached by a wealthy person from Italy to track down the person known as "Il Medico."


	3. Chapter 1b

**Chapter 1b**

[Duffie]

Though she'd admit to those that inquired that he crossed her mind at least once a day, truth be told he was more of a continuous presence taking up real estate in her brain. Maybe in her soul, if she had been the kind to believe such things. He was just always _there._ She'd savor a particularly lovely wine, enjoying its bouquet, but the experience would be marred by a very faint niggling, barely acknowledged, that she wished she could share it with him. A damnable nuisance is what it was.

_People will say that we're in love._

Yet, her thoughts hadn't gone to him upon seeing "Il Medico" in the file. Much too obvious. Perfectly so, it turned out.


	4. Chapter 1c

**Chapter 1c**

[Major Bachman]

At first, she had been suspicious why she had been requested for this case, maybe even frightened. Firstly, her business had run smoothly from the start, but all cases she had handled had been in the US. Not a minute spent in Mexico, Canada, Europe, Japan or wherever for her work, but she had enjoyed holidays in various places around the globe. Secondly, this was the first request to hunt down a serial killer. Most of the times, she was asked to assist in serious cases, often involving drugs, murders and other major criminal activities. Luckily, she admitted, she had been spared tedious and petty adultery cases. And thirdly - though it was a subconscious thought at first and it took her time to fully admit it to herself - she was very reluctant to visit Italy. She sometimes dreamed about Rinaldo Pazzi dangling with his bowels out. He would look at her and speak to her, even with the duct tape over his mouth, and he would ask her why she did not immediately call the Questura after talking to Hannibal Lecter. Not the nicest dream to have, but it sure beat the screaming of the lambs she used to dream about. Luckily, it had been years since she dreamed that one.

After her initial reserve, she admitted this case was exactly something she could do, and wanted to do. A step higher on the professional ladder. The file she'd been given told her all she needed to know, and it told her exactly why she had been asked. The Questura's ongoing internal struggles over leadership rendered it nearly powerless. The father of one of the victims wanted to bring the killer of his only daughter to court, but he did not desire to be a part of the media circus. He demanded Clarice to contact him solely by means of the stooge. Well, she could live with that.

The only false note was the similarity of the father with Mason Verger. Also a wealthy man, out for revenge. So she made sure to inform him she was going to bring the serial killer to justice. She was relieved when she read the mail confirming the father gave her carte blanche in her actions.

In the end, with all legal and financial matters taken care of, she admitted she was ready to fly to Italy and chase the daughter's murderer.


	5. Chapter 1d

**Chapter 1d**

[Duffie]

Boarding the plane for her thirteen hour flight, Clarice was grateful that her benefactor allotted her a first class seat. The comfort was appreciated, but the privacy offered was truly a necessity. She found it nearly impossible to sleep on planes; there was something suffocating about the compressed recycled air. Since she couldn't fully relax, she utilized the time to study Il Medico's file, spreading out crime scene photos without the need to be concerned over prying eyes.

FBI agent or private investigator, both reduced to the same truth. She was an instrument for justice. Her job encompassed the skills of a warrior, but also those of a strategist and psychologist. She slipped into her training, pairing it with a natural intuition that had been honed through her years of experience.

Serial killers have a signature, something done for pure satisfaction not necessary to the murder.

Il Medico's ritual was particularly brutal, but that wasn't what made the images so deeply unsettling even to her seasoned eyes.

His chosen victims were children.

Despite her initial misgivings, Clarice now admitted to herself that she would have taken the case even without the generous monetary compensation or the chance to better herself professionally. She would catch this monster; she would grant the father what peace she could.

* * *

><p><em>That's the last part of chapter 1. We are busy with chapter 2, it'll be posted as soon as ready.<em>  
><em>But we'd like to know if this way of posting is agreeable with you; should we continue posting by chapter and contribution? Or should we post by contribution? Or by complete chapter?<em>

_Major Bachman, Duffie_


	6. Chapter 2

**A/N~ Now we're finding our groove dear readers. Many thanks for the very helpful suggestions. **

**Chapter 2**

The first hour of her flight was used to read the most important sheets and documents in the file, which was her way to create a system in the chaos of files, the foundation on which further information could be stacked. It had its similarity with people reading a newspaper's headlines first. But those people often only read the articles they believed to be of interest, Clarice would read every bit of information after this initial scan and paint a complete picture. She needed both the overview, as well as the details.

She had learned the value of overview from the FBI. Full and exact reports, written a.s.a.p. to avoid errors and omissions.

Doctor Lecter had taught her the value of detail - the fact that Buffalo Bill knew his first victim Frederica Bimmel, killed her and made sure her body was found later than his second _random _victim's, to avoid too much attention on Frederica.

After that hour, she spent the next four on reading everything in the file and adding it to her acute knowledge of the case, in its proper place. She was glad the file was already quite sorted and synoptic.

To clear her mind and relieve her legs of the burden of immobility, she rose and walked around to relieve her muscles. She knew how to work under physical discomfort. She remembered only too well all those hours in crowded, stale vans, waiting for the right moment while your male colleagues take greedy looks at you from the corners of their eyes, thinking you won't notice. How many times had she been called for assistance right after returning from another incident, tired, bruised and all? But being able to work under discomfort did not mean preferring it. Clarice would have appreciated a small work-out room there and then. Taking the thought one step further, she suddenly decided to show her badge and ask for a secluded space, even when she knew that would be difficult in a piece of machinery designed to economize every available square inch. The air-hostess, a young woman with a genuine smile on her pretty face, was clearly impressed by the badge and very cooperative. To her surprise, this plane had a separate space for cabin crew. Jane, the air-hostess, offered her the use of this room for the rest of the flight. Clarice immediately informed her it would only be for an hour. After putting everything back into the file, she used the room to have a small work-out.

Invigorated by the exercise, she re-opened the file and started working her way through all pictures, trying to get as much information and detail out of them as possible. She noted down what was in the pictures, then checked for similarities and anomalies. After three hours, she put the pictures down and focused her thoughts on profiling the murderer. This was the hardest part, for she knew the doctor would be with her in a jiffy, teasing her and prodding her. [MB]

She didn't fight the cultured, softly mocking voice but opened herself to it. It had been a decade since her ears had last registered his sibilant pronunciation of her name, standing in Paul Krendler's kitchen. But daily thereafter he'd invaded her mind and she'd long ago accepted the alter ego as another weapon in her arsenal of skills.

_Talk to me Doc._

_Gladly my dear, though you hardly need my insight, hmmm? You've already gleaned Il Medico's best kept secret. It's right there, you've nearly got it. _

The taunting, damn him, nearly pushed the epiphany further out of reach. Her white fingered grip on either armrest tightened before slackening.

Her mind brought forth profiling lectures she'd attended while at Quantico. The term "serial killer" had been coined in the mid 70's, Jeffrey Dahmer among the first to achieve the label. Interestingly enough, he deviated from the so called standard knowledge of serial murderers in that he often chose victims of different ethnicities from himself. He liked them Asian or African American. A lesson to those endeavoring the heavy task of profiling: there would always be exceptions.

This was in the right direction, but still not quite there.

Then her thoughts shifted to a literature course she'd taken as an undergrad. Ancient Literature, it had fulfilled a liberal studies requirement, but had offered the additional bonus of actually being worth getting up at 7:00 AM after putting in a late shift at work the night before. Not as a hotel maid, and she shuddered in repugnance despite the comfortable temperature of albeit recycled air. She'd worked at an office supply store, finding some amount of comfort in the sterile electronic equipment. Some friends regularly called home to mommy or daddy for money; hadn't been an option for her, but she'd made do.

Dragging her caffeinated butt to the early morning lit. class, her zany and smiling professor would greet her at the door decked out in one of a seemingly endless supply of faded Hawaiian shirts and sporting the same pair of well worn Birkenstocks. Then, for fifty minutes, he would transport them to ancient Greece. Comedies, satires…and tragedies.

They had been mornings spent in carefree fascination, but they'd also reiterated a truth she'd learned from the many Bible stories studied in the Lutheran orphanage. Both literature and religious documents showed as long as there had been people, there had been brutality, people hurting each other.

Lines arose now, unbidden. _I have no land, no home, no refuge from my pain_.

There it was.

Reluctant to mesh fond class memories with the horror in front of her, Clarice nonetheless shuffled through the crime photos, pulling out the second to last one.

At first glance the child looked like he was tranquilly sleeping, just like the others. But then enough seconds elapsed and the brain fully processed that the shadows were actually stains. That it wasn't stuffed animals on the bed…

But this child's hair differed from the curly mops of the others. His was flatiron straight, so the small hank cut from the bangs was noticeable, though only just. Easily missed, except, among what little jewelry Clarice's mama had owned, there'd been a tarnished silver brooch containing a lock of hair. Her daddy had called it "mourning" jewelry and explained it was from a great-grandmother's dead infant.

These windows of her mind aligned, the doctor whispering, _yes Clarice_.

There would always be exceptions.

Il Medico was a woman. [D]


	7. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Clarice recalled a lecture by the late Louise Weiss on the characteristics of serial killers. Her first remark that hour had been that almost all of them were men, and she'd kept her lecture restricted to male serial killers only. At the end of the lecture, all other students had left the room, only Clarice had walked over to Ms. Weiss and asked her about female serial killers. The answer was short.

_There are no statistics, profiles, guidelines or whatever on female serial killers. There just __aren't that many of them, at least none caught alive or whose MO could be analyzed. Should one surface, there would be nothing to help the hunt._

Clarice realized the possibilities of her case at hand. She immediately decided to meticulously document everything for later use in a book. For now, she accepted the sensational feeling of this breakthrough. It was an experience she'd had often in her career, but each time was as thrilling as the first - the flash on the dressmaking pattern while looking through Fredrica's closet. But experience told her not to overdo it now. Better to keep it at this, wait some time and review all material with this fresh insight in mind. She neatly closed the file, returned it to her bag and sat back to relax for the remaining part of the flight.

Having a wealthy client had its advantages. Having a wealthy client willing to spend money was even better. Having a wealthy client foreseeing, anticipating and taking care of expenditures was bliss. Clarice made a mental note to thank her employer as soon as possible for his thoughtfulness when she retrieved her four absurdly overweight suitcases from the conveyor belt at the airport, since it had been suggested in a most urgent way to prepare for a long visit to Italy, but all paid for by Mr. X, as she had started to call him. She could guess from the list of victims which father her employer was, but by naming him Mr. X, she'd keep the secrecy going as a gimmick.

And it was no surprise to her she was picked from the line of people waiting for customs. Well, with her special equipment along she would have to declare anyway, that was no problem. After a thorough search through her luggage and a check of all the papers needed to import her arms, she was free to go. The first thing she needed to do now was get a cab to the hotel. But as she walked through the sliding doors, she immediately noticed the sign saying 'Ms. Starling' and the man in uniform holding it. [MB]

Realizing she should have expected nothing less, she gave a small wave to her uniformed greeter and followed him to the waiting sleek black Mercedes-Benz at the curb. Her gut told her he was legit, and sensing no danger, climbed into the backseat.

She was stiff from her flight, and her walk across the airport had done little to relieve the tension regardless of her midflight workout. Joints popped as she stretched out her legs in the spacious interior, the recurring thought flitting through her brain that running really was hard on her body, that perhaps she should find an alternative exercise. Nah. There was nothing else like it, and she'd damn well do it until the day came she was no longer able. It was an addiction as surely as any other. A cigar smoker would draw thick, fragrant clouds into his…or her, mouth. Knowing carcinogens were being absorbed along with the rich aroma didn't matter; it was a compulsion. For her, knowing joints and tendons were being taxed didn't matter either; the freedom of the unhampered movement was too glorious.

Compulsion.

Her thoughts returned to Il Medico. Serial killers were above all else creatures subject to their needs, to their persistent impulses. Gender didn't change that.

Il Medico…a slight upturning of Clarice's lips as the notion crossed her mind that perhaps she should rename her Il Medica, needed to kill children. Not-quite-formed smile abruptly gone, she continued her internal list. Il Medico needed to stage their bodies, always in a bloody caricature of a little one tucked in and blissfully sleeping. The juxtaposition was beyond startling, whether you were a rookie police officer or an ex special agent. The bedtime ritual should beget emotions of safety, nurturing, and love. A bonding time between parent and child. She had to explore the obvious questions. Was or had Il Medico ever been a mother? Were these scenes related to Il Medico's relationship with her own mother? Did it matter?

Clarice felt the Doctor stirring…[D]

_Where's there smoke, there's fire, Clarice._

_Whoa - cool it, doctor_, Clarice thought. Though she would keep the ideas in mind, she needed to relax and get herself together right now. The jet lag was getting to her. All she wanted was to sit back and enjoy the ride.

The forty minute drive from Malpensa Airport to downtown Milan was as smooth as a summer breeze. Before Clarice knew it - she believed she might have dozed off for a moment - the driver parked his car, got out swiftly and opened the door for her.

Clarice stood on the curb and looked at the hotel. Melia Milano, five stars. But a funny looking building it was. Grey stone facade on the first floor, terracotta colored on the other four floors; a distinct resemblance with medieval castles that looked out of place in this fashionable city. _Well, looks can be deceiving_, Clarice thought. _Both in people as hotels._ _Five stars is five stars, after all._

A cheerful bellhop loaded her luggage on a trolley, then wheeled it inside. The doorman held the door open for the driver and Clarice, tipping his hat while at it. Clarice admired the professionalism that showed in his whole bearing. She'd seen five star hotels where doormen had gazed at her like horny teenage kiddos.

Once inside, Clarice took a good look at the hotel lobby and saw her earlier conception confirmed - the outside not always resembles the inside. A plush and posh interior breathed the word 'luxury' into her eyes. Red lacquered wood. Mirrors and delicate lighting. Elaborate details. Tapestries and a grand white staircase with dark steel banisters. And, much to her personal entertainment, some classic cars stationed here and there. Just sitting around here would be a nice way to spend time.

The driver, who had waited for her while she scanned the interior, now beckoned for her to follow him. He took her to the front desk and spoke a few words to the hotel receptionist. Then he took leave of Clarice with a polite bow and would not accept a tip.

"Ms. Starling, welcome to the Melia Milano. I hope you had an agreeable flight?"

"Fair enough. But I'm glad to be here."

"And so are we. We hope you'll have an excellent stay here. If there should be anything you want, don't hesitate to call the front desk. The Melia Milano will be delighted to be of service. We understand you might need more than average assistance, but that should be no problem at all. Every need will be met and everything demanded has been arranged as agreed," the woman spoke in a soft and friendly tone. "Now, would you please fill out this form for us?"

"Of course," Clarice replied.

"Thank you," the receptionist replied as soon as Clarice had finished. "And may I see your passport for a moment, please?"

As soon as the woman had checked her identity, she handed Clarice the key to her room and a package that had been left at the desk for her.

"Have a nice stay. Alfredo, the bellhop, will show you your room."

"Thank you."

After he had unloaded her luggage on the floor of the spacious room near the closet, Alfredo showed her around and asked if he could be of any more assistance. Clarice shook her head, tipped him for his work and with a bow, Alfredo left.

The mysterious package was much too inviting to be left for later. Clarice quickly checked it for unwanted surprises, then opened it. In it was a car key with a Lancia tag, an unsigned credit card and a letter. [MB]

Glancing around her airy accommodations, she walked across the expanse of the room and sank into a luxurious settee, afternoon sunlight pouring in. The letter was of quality material, perhaps vellum, and had whimsically been sealed Old World style with wax drip and imprint. With a soft grin, she thought it appropriate considering her surroundings. She studied the insignia, lightly running her fingers over the grooves and indentions of the paraffin. It was a winding, crowned serpent with a person in its jaws. Now, Clarice hated snakes as much as the next sane person. Even now shudders went through her remembering the time her daddy had inadvertently stepped on a timber rattler, and that he'd borne a large white and gnarled scar on his calf for the rest of his days because of it. But for the life of her there was actually something compelling about the image of this serpent. She'd study it further later and took out her cell phone to snap its picture.

Image preserved, she gently broke the seal with her thumbnail and opened the letter. At a glance, the contents were nearly disappointing. They were so mundane after the nearly theatrical outward presentation. Business letter format, typed 12 point Times New Roman, the author formally, perhaps even impersonally, clarified some of the finer points of her position. He reiterated his gratitude at her accepting the case, assured her unlimited resources were at her disposal via the credit card, informed her of the vehicle for her personal use and, surprisingly, offered her alternative housing in the country at a family estate if she found the hotel too busy as a base for her investigation. The last suggestion had much merit. Though truth be told she was relegated to the basement of Quantico largely because of her refusal to play politics, it had become a place of quiet and solitude that allowed her some of her best thinking. Hearing a muffled siren even through the thick walls from the city below was enough to make her consider the offer. Later.

The format of the letter broke tradition in that the author's signature was not below his printed name. Unable to resist, she brought the vellum to her nose and softly inhaled. Nothing out of the ordinary. Only a sliver of disappointment stabbed through her. [D]


	8. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Clarice had mused on how to approach this case, being out of her regular habitat. She needed more than just the file she'd been given. She needed local connections, people to talk with and inform her of Milan matters, and other reliable sources of knowledge. Official knowledge could be obtained on the Internet. The FBI, in an unexpected gesture of good will, had not withdrawn her rights on their network after her resignation and allowed her full use of their net resources. Right now, all she needed was the telephone number of the Milan Questura. She wanted to establish a friendly cooperation. She needed them to know she was on their side, that she was helping to bring the murderer to justice and was not trying to gain personal fame and honor. The sooner she contacted them, the more they would be convinced of her good intentions.

Clarice fired up her laptop, which lately tended to surprise her every now and then with the feared Blue Screen of Death, to see if she really could access the Internet here with her new wireless modem. To her relief, she could. The Questura site was found in no time, and even while it was in Italian, she was able to retrieve the phone number and address of the Milan Questura. While at it, cursing the damn machine for its meager performance, she decided to replace this laptop with a new one soon, acknowledging the merit of her new credit card.

She called the Questura number with her own cell phone. After explaining who she was and what she called for, she was told to please hold on. Some silly music she'd not expected to hear while on hold with the Questura bugged her ear. After a few moments, a click and a warm, male voice replaced it.

"Ispettore Alessandro Corvo"

"Hello ispettore, do you speak English?"

"Yes, I do," he said, "How may I help you?"

"My name is Clarice Starling, and I..."

"Ah, Ms. Starling, you call sooner than we expected. How are you?"

"I'm sorry - expected?"

"Yes, Ms. Starling. We were told..."

Clarice was very surprised. "… that we could expect a call from you. We were told you could be of good assistance in the search for Il Medico."

"Well, that's a surprise to me, but I'm glad to hear it."

"Good. Ms. Starling, would you prefer we talk things over in person?"

"Yes, please."

"Is it possible for you to come here now?"

"It certainly is," Clarice replied. The short sleep in the Mercedes had worked wonders, she felt invigorated, "I'll be there as soon as possible."

"You know where we are?"

"I do."

"Good. Until later, Ms. Starling."

"Until later, Mr. Corvo."

With some help from the receptionist, she found the hotel parking area situated next to it, and looked for her car. Pressing the remote on the car key, she located the car Mr. X had provided her with easily. It was a Lancia Musa, in a fancy beige color, giving it the appearance of a tailored Italian suit. Inside, she found a GPS. She entered 'Via Fatebenefratelli, 11' and drove off, glad to be used to manual transmissions. But this car was significantly smaller than her own; its size and power made her feel like driving a kart. But she had to admit this car was well suited for Milanese roads and turned out to be very enjoyable. _Nice_, she thought. [MB]

Maneuvering through the busy, narrow passages Clarice was surprised at their state of disrepair. Huge potholes dotted the streets, many large enough to be real threats to tires. Wondering how many accidents resulted annually from the decaying roads, she deftly slipped into an available parking spot and entered the station.

Police headquarters are police headquarters regardless of country, but there was enough of a sense of otherness to remind her that she wasn't on home turf. Acutely aware that she no longer carried the privileges allotted an FBI special agent, she experienced renewed gratitude toward her benefactor for securing her the special license to carry a concealed weapon; a trickier undertaking here in Italy than back home.

Inquiring after Ispettore Corvo in broken Italian to the officer manning the front desk, she was escorted through a maze of cluttered metal desks to a man standing in a corner staring out a dusty window. There was an air of absorption about him, distraction.

She thanked her guide and approached the ispettore.

"Ispettore Corvo?"

Her voice drew him from his reverie, and he greeted her with a friendly smile and outstretched hand to shake. He had a nice grip, strong enough but not too strong, not too lingering. She liked that.

"Ms. Starling, or perhaps Detective Starling?" stated with just enough inflection to make it a question, but without a trace of the condescension private investigators sometimes received from law enforcement officials.

She graced him with a true smile and said, "Clarice is fine, I don't hold much with titles these days."

He returned the smile, revealing a dimple on his left cheek and said, "Well then, please call me Alessandro." The thought _too bad you're a baby_ skittered through her brain before she could stop it.

He was mid to late twenties at best, and must be good to have already reached his current rank. His dark brown eyes revealed intelligence even as they nearly concealed his pupils, an affect Clarice found intriguing and made her want to keep staring at them. He was lean, lightly muscled and right at six feet.

Ardelia would have called him a tall drink of water and Clarice would be hard-pressed not to agree.

Attributing her reaction to hormones and a long period of abstinence, she moved on and got down to business. It was with some amount of annoyance that she discovered the inspector already had all of her contact information as well as a bio on her, courtesy of her employer. Partly it was nice to already have some networking established, but she would have preferred to direct it herself. She needed to have a talk with Mr. Big Shot pretty soon, seemed they had a thing or two to hammer out between them. [D]

He took her to a secluded room, so they could talk on how they would cooperate.

"Please," Alessandro said and waited for her to take her seat in the chair he was holding for her. Clarice sat down and Alessandro took a seat opposite her.

"Well, Ms. Starling..."

"Clarice, remember?"

"Ah, yes, I apologize," he said and Clarice could almost swear he blushed a bit.

"Clarice. I saw you were... surprised that you were expected, no?"

"Let's put it this way - I'm not sure how much my employer has done without me knowing it, and that makes me nervous. I like to keep control."

"I understand. Well, to be honest, your resume and address is all we have. Would you like to tell me more? Maybe your side of the story?"

Clarice smiled.

"Okay," she said.

Once Clarice had finished her story, surprising not only Alessandro with her experience but also herself with her frankness, they both sat back in their chairs and let silence reign for a while. It was maybe a minute or two later, after Clarice had watched him chew on her words, that he suddenly rose and asked if she would like something to drink, and he added he meant something better than the ditch water they served at the Questura. Clarice said she would, and he asked her to follow him; he knew a good place to have coffee just around the corner.

As he ordered an espresso and a cappuccino, Alessandro told Clarice he was impressed with her experience in the field. And that he was glad she was willing to help him, and the Questura, he added, in the search for Il Medico. He hoped she hadn't heard his little slip of the tongue. To be honest, he really was very much impressed with her file, but he could not deny the feeling he experienced when he first saw her. It was an appreciation of her looks and of her stance, her feline-like quality in motion and behavior. He instantly knew she was a strong woman, both physically and mentally.

"Clarice," he said as they sat down, "The Questura is proud to have you, with your experience, on this case. That you are no longer FBI does not matter, we are glad you are here. And we wish full disclosure on both sides."

Clarice resisted commenting on the possible double meaning of his words.

"Bringing the murderer to justice is our common goal, we welcome your insight and experience. You have dealt with several serial killers, none of us can say that."

"How much time do you spend on the case?"

"Full time," Alessandro said.

"How much time do you expect us to work together?"

He thought for a moment. Clarice drank a few sips of her cappuccino.

"That is for you to say, Clarice. Do you prefer an office at the Questura or regular gatherings?"

"That's a nice offer, thank you, but is it okay if I decide later? Because right now, I think I'd first like to study the material you've collected."

"Of course. I will make sure the Questura will be at your service. Tomorrow, you can work your way through the complete case file. And I will be there to answer questions you might have."

"I need to confer with my employer first thing tomorrow. I don't think I'll make it before ten," Clarice told Alessandro.

"That is no problem."

"Thank you. For the coffee, your hospitality and the Questura's."

"You're welcome."

They rose and left. Both were a bit uncertain how to say goodbye. Clarice decided on shaking hands. Alessandro took hers, and smiled. [MB]


	9. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Clarice reached over to her cell phone that doubled as her alarm clock and turned off the nearly unfamiliar ringer. Though she always set it as a precaution, most days it was unnecessary. Her natural body rhythm usually woke her five minutes before 5:00 AM. But right now she had jet lag to contend with, jet lag coupled with thoughts of the previous day's events.

She lay still for a moment; quiet, reflective.

Gently running her palms and wrists back and forth through the luxurious sheets she thought they might even be up to his impossible standards. She didn't know much about thread count, but figured these were up there.

She was less sure of what he would think of Alessandro.

Playing back yesterday's conversation, she was aghast at her own transparency in recounting her law enforcement experiences to the young inspector. Clarice considered herself a candid person and admired bluntness in others. But yesterday and been different.

Midway through summarizing for the umpteenth time in her life the abridged and edited version of the events in Krendler's kitchen, Clarice found herself describing Lecter's lips descending to hers. She'd never shared the fact before, officially or otherwise.

What was it about the ispettore that inspired such confidences?

Alessandro was direct and lacked the posturing that occurred so often in law enforcement, the stale game of which rooster was in charge of the henhouse. She got the notion he was somebody she could really collaborate with; she had even nearly revealed her insight of the killer's gender. But no. There wasn't any solid evidence Il Medico was a woman, it was just something she felt in her gut. And though her gut had also told her he was trustworthy, she'd already been too open. Over the years she'd learned through literal trial by blood the value of restraint.

Pulling herself from her musings, she glanced at the clock and knew it was too early even for secretive millionaires. _Make that secretive, grief-stricken millionaires_. Disgusted at her distraction, she cursed herself as just another idiot turned by an attractive face. She got out of bed and readied herself for the gym. [D]

The treadmill remained her favorite workout method when running outside was out of the question. Maybe in a few days, after seeing more of the city, she might consider it. For now, this hamster exercise would have to do. Running was running, she declared, but admitted to herself feeling the wind in your face and the ground beneath your feet was part of what made the exercise outside more enjoyable.

After running for half an hour and feeling her muscles more than usual, she decided she'd had enough and headed for the showers. There, she enjoyed the privacy of the early hour by shamelessly turning on the complete shower panel and taking her time, using the water to massage her muscles. It was very relaxing. She stood still, feeling the jets of water on her body move around like fingers, making her feel warm and giddy.

Finally, she turned off the tap and toweled herself dry. On a whim, she decided to get herself Grecian braids today along with the new laptop. Until then, her hair would remain in a simple but effective ponytail. With that, she walked back upstairs to her room and ordered her breakfast, not wanting to wait for the buffet to open. She was afraid seven o'clock might be a bit too early to order, but the woman on the other end of the line did not sound surprised at all and told Clarice her breakfast would be there in five minutes.

Clarice turned on her computer and completed her outfit while waiting for it to be ready. First thing she did was search for the address of a computer shop. While looking, a knock on her door announced her breakfast. Clarice opened the door and saw a girl, carrying her breakfast on a tray. She let her in, the tray was put on the table and after giving the girl a tip, Clarice let her out and went back to her computer to check her mail. One from Ardelia wishing her a good time in Europe and that she already missed her, and a few from clients. She replied to all of them, mentioning she would not be available for some time.

After downloading and installing MSN Messenger, as instructed in Mr. X's letter, she added his name to her contacts. To her surprise, he was online.

_[Starling_PI] Good morning_

_[JanusBifrons] L'alba sveglia la terra e tu sei qui. _

_[Starling_PI] ?_

_[JanusBifrons] It means "Daybreak wakes the earth and you are here". Up early, as usual?_

Clarice smiled at the poetical greeting, in spite of feeling it was slightly inappropriate coming from her employer.

_[Starling_PI] Yes. We need to talk about a few things_

_[JanusBifrons] Right down to business? Okay, tell me._

_[Starling_PI] Appreciate your work - hotel&car&Questura - but don't like surprises_

_[JanusBifrons] I wanted to make things easy for you._

_[Starling_PI] Appreciated but would like to know in advance_

_[JanusBifrons] Agreed._

_[Starling_PI] No more surprises in store?_

_[JanusBifrons] No. What else?_

_[Starling_PI] My plans for the coming days_

_[JanusBifrons] Tell me. _

_[Starling_PI] Research at Questura first see what pops up. Buy a new laptop. See where the murdered children lived._

_[JanusBifrons] Do as you please just keep me informed. Buy a brand. Are you going to talk to the parents or just take a look?_

Clarice was glad for his suggestion to buy a good laptop - she had planned to make good use of the credit card, this was silent assent.

_[Starling_PI] First take a look_

_[JanusBifrons] If you want to talk to parents, contact them through Corvo._

_[Starling_PI] Okay_

_[JanusBifrons] Anything else?_

_[Starling_PI] Just to make sure: I do not know how long I will need_

_[JanusBifrons] I know and I don't care, as long as you do your job. I want that bastard nailed._

_[Starling_PI] Okay. That's it_

_[JanusBifrons] Arrivederci._

_[Starling_PI] Bye_

Relieved, Clarice shut down the laptop and remembered breakfast was waiting for her. [MB]

Checking her phone she saw she'd missed a call from Alessandro. She entered her code and heard his warm and sincerely apologetic voice state his department had an unexpected staff meeting to attend this morning. _Ah those lovely bureaucratic processes where many people get together and nothing gets done._ A change of plans for her then.

A short while later she exited her hotel parking lot. Her first stops would be the hair salon then computer shop; being a customer and interacting with locals would help her develop a feel for the city. She knew this wasn't key to catching the killer but it would be a start. Many working the case were native to Milan, yet the file she'd been given was thick with gruesome crime scene photos but thin on authority revelations.

Five children in three years.

Three killed here in the city, two in outlying provinces.

There were a lot of suppositions. A lot of psychobabble mumbo jumbo bullshit about a man with mommy issues, at least according to the English translations she'd received. _Subject displays characteristics of a sociopathic personality combined with obsessive-compulsive disorder._ Clarice knew that wasn't right. A sociopath, in the true sense of the word, felt no guilt. And it seemed to her the killer's meticulous placement of the bodies wasn't OCD but more akin to a demonstration of remorse.

So not a man with mommy issues, but if the killer was a woman perhaps a mom with issues? Would neighborhoods and crime scenes reveal something new from this shifted perspective?

Clarice could only hope. Thoughts of a book aside, she did indeed want to nail the bastard and had played against the good ol' boys club long enough to feel the term could be universally applied. She was an equal opportunist.

With Crawford's long ago warning about assumptions echoing through her mind, her lips turned in a slight sneer and she knew it would be foolishness at this point to rule out either gender and there was no way of knowing if the killer was or ever had been a parent. Her gut might know, but her mind had to stay open to different possibilities.

Parallel parking across from the salon, direct Clarice took a moment to decide if her sudden decision for Grecian braids had anything to do with a certain younger Italian gentleman. _Nope_.

At forty-three, single and never married, Clarice pleased herself first. She didn't court favor from a man, _any_ man. When she had her hair done or purchased new clothes she did it for her own satisfaction. She took occasional lovers, and they were mutually beneficial relationships; pleasant and short lived. But these men did not direct her grooming habits or any other part of her life. The fact that she sometimes envisioned a pair of maroon eyes reflecting pleasure or displeasure was the only exception, and one, uncharacteristically, that she chose not to examine too closely.

Her Loeffler Randall boots tapped a staccato on the cobblestones as she crossed the busy street.

Entering the shop, there was no bell or chimes. Instead she was greeted with a hearty "Benvenuta!" from a nearly stick thin woman behind a counter cluttered with nailpolish and lipstick displays. The woman's smiling face was expertly made-up and she was of an indeterminate age.

"Grazie," Clarice said. "Do you speak English?"

Looking a little crestfallen the woman stated, "No."

Fighting an urge to say esta bien, _Italian not Spanish Clarice_, she fumbled through the request she'd memorized from Google Translator earlier, "Vorrei avere il mio taglio di capelli."

The woman's smile returned and she held up a dangerously sharp looking pair of scissors, snipping them in the air.

Now it was Clarice's face that fell. "Um, no. Solo un minuto." She pulled out her phone and quickly started tapping the screen and soon held up an image of a woman in Grecian braids.

Nodding, the woman directed her to a chair.

Emerging from the salon a short while later, Clarice felt good and for once wasn't annoyed by the sideways glances she received from some of the men, and one woman, passing by.

She walked the short distance to the computer shop. Honestly, she was fascinated with technology and had a natural aptitude for it. Some of her favorite trainings at Quantico had been about tracking devices and microphones. But she'd decided to visit the crime scene of the second victim since she couldn't meet Alessandro until later. Serial killers are a fairly rare breed, but during the seven cases she'd worked with the Bureau she'd learned to skip the first victim and return later, _after_ her eyes had become familiar with the killer's MO. Almost always inconsistencies would emerge. Some of the perpetrators were highly organized, but they were still human and had a learning curve. When studied correctly, a serial murderer's first crime scene could be quite revealing. Following this methodology she'd cracked several cases using clues gleaned. So she did not indulge herself long in the shop, but quickly made her purchase and exited.

Climbing into the compact Lancia Musa, if she'd turned her head only half a second slower, she likely would have caught the reflection from the binoculars trained on her from five stories above. [D]


	10. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The second murder was committed in the Milanese quarter of Gorla. Clarice decided to drive there at an easy pace to get a feel for the country. She liked driving the Musa though she preferred larger and more powerful cars.

The Sopraelevata Renato Serra and Sopraelevata Monte Ceneri exposed much of Milan to her due to their elevation. She passed many apartment buildings and smaller, more old-fashioned houses with slightly slanted red roofs. New buildings next to old ones. She enjoyed driving Viale Marche, she could smell the flowers even with the windows up. But after a practically non-illuminated tunnel that nearly caused her an accident, and the incomprehensible Piazzale Loreto, Clarice was glad to arrive at her destination safely. She stopped a furlong from the crime scene.

Clarice remained in her car and thought. She decided she did not want to talk to the parents yet. What she wanted to do was get to know the place. Not as an officer or ispettore, but as someone looking for something. Wanting and needing something.

She cleared her mind and opened up for first impressions by closing her eyes and concentrating on her breathing. After one minute, she got out and opened her eyes.

It was evident from the first look this was not how anybody with bad intentions would approach the house. Way too many apartment buildings overlooking the road and no less conspicuous alternative nearby. It didn't match her insight nor the facts of the file. Pissed, she got in and drove round to the other road leading to the house. She parked and needed three minutes to focus again.

_This is where she walked_, Clarice thought. She wasn't conscious of the fact she kept referring to the killer as a woman.

_A wall and a park beyond on the left. A lot of buildings on the right, but behind trees, covering me from chance viewings._

Clarice walked in the direction of the house, and slowly it came into view.

_No more trees on the right now; a fence, ten yards long, three feet high, next to the canal. Green water. No cover here, only this small separate bit of wall._

Clarice listened intensely. She heard the screaming of wheel flanges against rails; probably a train passing a railroad switch, and more train related sounds. On her other side she could hear the incessant noise of fast moving vehicles. At closer range, she discerned some radios, people screaming at each other, dogs barking. But all the time, the road she stood upon was and remained empty, as she'd expected. She turned to the house and looked at it.

_Green garage door. Hey - elevator buttons? Strange... _

_Solid grey garden gate left of the elevator. A high wall closing off the garden from the street._

She walked along the wall and came across another grey solid garden gate, a double one this time. She considered it, then walked back to the first gate.

_No. Looks like a garden gate but it isn't. Don't know where it leads though. But the double gate leads into the garden, that's for sure. Maybe this doesn't belong to the house?_

Clarice saw this was not where she should be looking for clues. She walked along the garden wall again, passed the double garden gate and reached the front of the house. It was old, but well maintained. Large, but not exceptionally, she thought. A second later she corrected herself: this is Italy. So she compared it to the houses she'd seen during the drive. Soon, she noticed the difference: this one had only one front door so it belonged to one family. She had to admit: that made this a large house indeed.

It had familiar pink stucco, windows with green shutters and red slanted roofs. The front's single entrance was a sturdy double wooden door. The window above it had a small balcony.

_You wouldn't use the front door. You would not be able to force it, or pick it. Why not climb the balcony and enter through the window? That lock is easy to pick._

_Why didn't you climb it?_

_Because you couldn't reach it, right?_

_I can reach and climb it, but you couldn't!_

_Because I am long enough, and you are not. _

_You are only a short woman._

_So, if you didn't enter here, where did you?_

She walked back, following the wall until she reached the double gate.

_There are streetlights, but not many - I see only one, and it's over there. This gate is bathed in darkness at night. That makes it difficult to climb, but you had to. You climbed the gate because the front is no option and the wall is too high for you. But you can climb the gate. You used the hinges for support, because you're short._

Clarice inspected the gate and noticed the hinges on the left side of the gate had less dirt and moss on them than the hinges on the other side of the gate.

Clarice smiled. She would investigate the other crime scenes keeping an open mind of course, but she knew she was on the right track. She returned to her vehicle.

When Clarice was inside the Musa again, she opened the case file and leafed through it, searching for the part concerning the second murder. As she scanned the pages, she saw her findings confirmed: the murderer had entered the house unnoticed by holding a piece of cloth to one of the small glass panes of the back door and slowly applying more and more pressure until the glass broke almost without a sound.

_That's _how_ you entered this house. _

_But I know _why_ - because you're a woman, and you're small, and you're not that strong._

The file also mentioned the murderer used oleander to poison the children before butchering them. Clarice knew women use poison more often than men to commit suicide or to kill. It all fit.

Clarice took a deep breath and relaxed. This was enough for today, she told herself and decided she'd have lunch somewhere first and then return to the hotel to get her new laptop fully installed and going and add her findings to the file. [MB]

_Squirrel huntin' with Daddy. She'd been begging for weeks for him to take her with him. Over the summer they'd practiced with the old .22 until she could hit at least most of the Coke cans lined up on the back fence. It pained her somthin' fierce everytime a bullet whizzed by, target untouched. But Daddy said she was doing mighty fine, and she believed him, and now she wanted to use her skills. It was early fall and the leaves were still thick on the trees. It was going to be tricky. But with two of them standing on either side of a treed squirrel, somebody was bound to get him._

_She really wanted that somebody to be her, she wanted to see her father smile with pride and say again he didn't need a son because he had her. It was a comment she never tired of hearing._

_This afternoon he'd finally given in. She'd been sitting on the front step reading Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. When Daddy had first approached her she thought he was going to take the book away. One teacher at school had called it naughty; Clarice had immediately checked it out from the library._

_Instead he'd said, "You'd best go in and tell your mama we're havin' squirrel stew tonight." With a squeal of excitement she'd done just that._

_And now she literally had a squirrel in her sight. _The head, hit the head_ she reminded herself. Don't want to spoil the meat, or, worse yet, have a wounded squirming animal. Squeezing the trigger, she fought the urge to close her eyes. She might be a girl, but she didn't have to be girlie._

_She got him!_

_Her exhilaration turned into something else though as she approached the little body on the forest floor. Its head was gone, and she made herself pick up her kill. She turned around to hold it up to Daddy, tryin' hard to put a smile on her face that wouldn't reveal the queasiness she was feeling._

_But Daddy didn't have the look of pride she'd coveted. No. He was staring at her intensely. Like he knew she felt bad, like he liked it. Then he was smiling, all mean and toothy._

_She stood there, holding the still warm body, her fingers sticky with blood. And her daddy laughed at her. He laughed at her for a long time, his head thrown back and deep guffaws coming from his belly._

Sounds converged.

Clarice realized her phone was ringing, had been for a while now. She'd returned to the hotel after grabbing a quick lunch. The events of the last twenty-four hours had caught up with her, a heaviness in both her body and mind. She'd spread out across the bed and must have fallen asleep.

Reaching for her phone she saw Alessandro's name displayed.

Voice groggy with sleep she greeted him, "Hi Alessandro."

"Clarice? You sound sleepy. Did I wake you?"

"Yup, but believe me, I'm glad you did. I owe you one." A few beats of silence from him. She figured he was debating whether or not to ask about her dream. Transcripts of her conversations with Lecter were basically public record at this point; nothing like your most haunting childhood nightmare laid bare for strangers to prod.

Alessandro chose the better part of valor.

"I'm sorry about our meeting earlier. We weren't supposed to have a department meeting today, but some things came up." Another pause, then "What are your plans for this evening?"

Clarice was still lying down. She felt dirty, like she needed to wash her hands. The sun was quickly setting, casting much of the room in shadows. She also felt like turning on some lights.

Maybe it wasn't appropriate, but she didn't want to be alone.

"Well, Alessandro. I think I'm having dinner with you." [D]


	11. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

She spotted Alessandro before he saw her. Her movements attracted his attention, his face turned and Clarice could see his surprise and consecutive appreciation. In fact, he rose and was unaware of his slight gawking with an open mouth.

Clarice felt good.

"Hello, Alessandro," she said.

It took him a second to recover. Sort of.

"Ms. Sterling!"

"Clarice, remember?"

"Eh… your hair, it's different. It looks beautiful!"

"Thank you," she said and sat down. Alessandro followed suit.

Clarice looked at her Questura liaison and was glad she'd invited herself to dinner with him.

Alessandro's eyes inspected her, wandered over her, and she could see he was impressed, wondered and modest all at once.

A waiter appeared and asked something in Italian, probably if they wanted something to drink. Alessandro indeed relayed that question to her in English. She asked for an iced tea, Alessandro ordered two – Clarice understood _due_.

"You know, the department meeting actually worked out nicely for me," she continued, "It allowed me to settle and get some things in order. And I drove up to Gorla."

"Gorla? You visited the house where the second murder was?" Alessandro asked in disbelief.

"I drove up there to have a look. I only walked around and did not enter it. I just wanted to have a look at the outside, get a feel for the place. I would have called you if I wanted to enter the house."

Alessandro nodded in approval and relief.

"Buono. We were told you would help us and share what you know. We will also share what we know. But it is not good if you contact the families without us."

"I know. And I'll do my job within those parameters," she said, then noticed Alessandro didn't fully understand.

"I'll do my job as you expect me to do my job," she added immediately and smiled at him to avoid any unease on his side.

A short silence fell, then Alessandro spoke again.

"Gorla was popular in the 19th century with rich Milanese families. They built a number of villas along the canal as country residences. That is the background of the house you went to. What did you find?" he asked. [MB]

Just then the waiter returned, depositing two moisture beaded glasses of iced tea. He posed a question that Alessandro answered in rapid Italian then nodded his head and departed.

"Please tell me you didn't just order for me." Said in a teasing tone but his answer could seriously shift her perception of him.

"Of course not!" seeming truly surprised. "I told him we needed more time to study the menu."

The tea looked divine, and Clarice was suddenly very thirsty. Never one for sweetener in cold tea, she took a healthy sip as she took in Alessandro with her eyes. Even earlier today she hadn't been sure if it would be prudent to share her suspicions of Il Medico's sex, but her visit to the second crime scene had provided some amount of evidence to back up her hunch.

"I think we need to consider the possibility that Il Medico is a woman."

He blinked, once, slowly, as he processed the statement. Then, "What did you find at the scene to make you suspect such a thing?"

"It wasn't just the house today. It's the case file too. If you bypass the psychologists' reports, and just look at the crime scene photos, just look at the victims, it's there. It's a feeling, I don't know how to explain it, something motherly. Those children, those _babies_" at this her throat tightened but she made herself go on "have been tucked into bed."

Alessandro had let her speak freely, taking in her words and giving them genuine consideration. But at this he stopped her, "Clarice, my father read to me every evening when I was a small child. Men are nurturers too, just as able to put a little one to bed." Then, not to be contrary, but because it was true, "The psych reports talk about the killer having daddy issues."

She nodded, "Okay, fair enough. But my gut feels like it's a woman. Today, visiting Gorla, I think the officers that processed the scene did not see the complete picture, only details. The point of entry was the back door, true, but I think I know why."

She went on to explain the missing moss on the hinges, and her speculation of the killer's shortness and apparent physical weakness. She also pointed out women were more likely to use poisons and Alessandro nodded.

"Clarice, this is very very good. Maybe the killer is a woman, maybe not. My stomach is starting to feel it too." Clarice smiled at his attempt at the idiom. "But to finally know something, anything, of a physical description! The perp is short! I need to look back through the photos…"

She was grateful for his open mind, and though they had much more to discuss, including the hank of hair from the one child, the waiter had returned and it was time to put thoughts of crime scenes aside, at least for a while.

After the intensity of their last discussions, Clarice was ready to settle into some nice, lighthearted, perhaps even meaningless conversation with Alessandro. She wanted to see light catch his dark eyes and watch smile crinkles form in their corners.

The waiter took her order first, and she managed without Alessandro's assistance. She pointed to the Spaghetti con le Cozze, knowing it was pasta with mussels.

Alessandro smiled at her selection, placed his own order, then said "You know, some people think mussels are a, what is the word, aphrodisiac." His eye contact was bold and playful as he said it, but the color was back in his cheeks. [D]

She didn't need to gather her courage for an answer.

"I've eaten a lot of things that are considered an aphrodisiac. Sometimes I knew before I ate them, sometimes only learned it afterwards. I never felt any difference. But, to be honest, I never needed it anyway."

She returned him her bright eyes and somehow Alessandro managed to take a sip from his iced tea without choking.

Across the restaurant, two eyes were watching the two people play their little game. They took in every little detail of both their professional conversation and courtship display, the close observation imperceptible to other guests. The pair of eyes registered everything, from iced tea to ice cream and from smile to blush.

"Tomorrow, Alessandro, I intend to work my way through the complete Questura files."

"Buono. You want me to help you?"

"That would be nice, as long as you allow me to do my work my way. I need to get all facts sorted and straight, and I have developed my own methods for that. Not all I do is gut feeling."

A silence followed. Clarice took her last spoon of ice cream.

"After that, I intend to see some more of Milan and visit the other murder sites. Do you think you could help me there too?"

"I think I can. It's fine if the things I do help solve the case."

Alessandro hadn't ordered ice cream and had finished his coffee some moments ago. Now, he just sat and watched Clarice.

"Alessandro?"

"Will you take me to my hotel, please?" Clarice asked.

Alessandro nodded and answered. "Go get your coat. I'll pay and join you." [MB]


	12. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Considering it was 8:00 in the morning and Clarice and Alessandro were walking into a police station filled with individuals trained in surveillance, it seemed like more than just one wizened sergeant should notice Alessandro sporting yesterday's clothes, now slightly rumpled.

But only Ispettore Gregoris looked up at the passing couple and smiled, mostly to himself, remembering his last night of debauchery. The smile broke out into a full faced grin; that night had been a week ago.

Alessandro bypassed his desk and escorted Clarice to a small room at the back of the station.

It was essentially a shrine to Il Medico.

Two tall but narrow windows, dingy with the city's grime, cast a gray illumination on five photos of seemingly peaceful faces. Each photograph acted as the center of a web, with yarn stretching to other photos related to that particular crime scene.

The yarn was red, and Clarice thought, _follow the trails of blood..._

Her eyes traveled from the second victim's sleeping visage to a photo of the home's backdoor, one glass pane shattered. She'd already seen it, of course, had studied it intently. But seeing all of Il Medico's horrors simultaneously, and then realizing the five photos had been spaced in such a way as to allow additional ones to be pinned up...

She hadn't realized she was fixated on the wall until Alessandro grasped her shoulder, calling her name. She was about to ask for Post-it notes when his hand dropped to her lower back and began rubbing gently.

"Hey" her voice sharp, "cut that shit out."

His hand immediately dropping, he answered her in a decidedly cold tone, "Forgive me, you seemed distressed."

A long ago conversation with Brigham flashed through her mind, they'd been admiring the wisdom of the platitude "Don't shit where you eat." She hoped she wouldn't have cause to regret last night.

"Look Alessandro. In this room, at this time, we're colleagues. Nothing more, nothing less." She held his eyes with her own for several beats, and when he gave her a small nod she continued, softer, "Outside this room, when we're off duty, that's another story." Another nod and a slow smile from him. "Good. Do you have Post-it notes?"

Walking across the close space, he reached a metal desk pushed against the wall and slid its top drawer open. Inside were some basic office supplies, Clarice noted, and he fished out a package of the sticky notes for her. Bringing them to her, along with a pen, she thanked him with a small but genuine smile.

She scrawled "All POE's require little physical strength." Then she pulled the note from the pad and stuck it next to the photo of the backdoor. It hadn't been pointed out in the case file, and it was time to get the many eyes that studied this wall everyday considering it. _But wait_, looking to Alessandro she asked, "Will the officers here understand a note in English?"

A bobbing of his head "Ah, so so. Maybe a third of Italians speak English, perhaps a little more in the law enforcement world." He reached down for a second note and jotted a quick translation, then he handed it to her and she placed it below hers.

Alessandro said, "Bene" and Clarice knew they'd be all right. He went on, "My supervisor has, of course, been informed of your presence. You have full clearance here. You're being labeled a 'consultant.' I'm going to let you settle in, get a feel for what we do have. Coffee?"

A bigger smile from her this time, "Yes please." [D]

Alessandro left the room. Clarice turned back to the wall of horror.

She decided not to look for confirmation of her ideas, but for new information, things she didn't know yet. She took her own file from her backpack, opened it and flipped the pages with general information until she found the first page on the third victim.

Clarice wasn't even fully aware she shortly bowed her head and closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She did register five was an awful lot of victims already. It was her duty to avoid an additional center picture to the wall.

A sound from behind woke her from her reverie; Alessandro with a good mug of coffee, not Styrofoam but real earthenware. Then she saw he had written her name on it. She burst out into laughter. Alessandro grinned along.

"You deserve your own mug, just like the rest of us," he said when her laughter had subsided enough, and showed her his own - a giant flower decorated one. He put her mug on the table.

"A gift from my colleagues, to replace the one my mother gave me, it looked a lot like this one, but it _accidently_ fell on the floor within a week..." he said and Clarice could see him blush slightly again. She liked to see him blush.

"I will leave you for now. You know where to find me if you need me," he concluded. Clarice smiled and nodded, Alessandro then left the room.

Clarice faced the third web.

_Ah, the antepenultimate, _the familiar voice in her head spoke.

_Cut it out, Doc. Third to last, okay?_

_As you wish. What do you see?_

_Let me see. Mantova, that's Mantua in English. Luigi Gonzaga, age 2..._

Clarice bowed her head once more. Childless Clarice could swear she could feel a mother's pain for loss of a child, if only for a moment.

_Yes? _the voice interrupted her thoughts after a few seconds, coaxing her gently but firmly back to the case.

_Well, let's see, Dr. Lecter. Mother died half a year before child was killed. Father at first suspect of killing his own son, but had a watertight alibi, though not one to be proud of. He was having dinner with friends in a trattoria while his child remained at home - asleep but alone._

Clarice looked at the picture of the petty apartment building.

_Tornado bait, Clarice?_

_You could say that, yes. You'd call them impecunious, wouldn't you?_

…

_What's up, Doc? Did I step on your toes?_

_"Pardon me, Mister Wabbit, but Mr. Humphwey Bogart would just wove to have you for dinner."_

_I'm sorry, Dr. Lecter?_

_Excuse me, I could not resist quoting Elmer Fudd there._

_Yeah, I bet. Now, can we cut to the chase?_

_Certainly._

And Clarice focused on the pictures once again. Slowly, she worked her way through the disturbing pictures and information on the wall, taking notes and adding them to her own file. When she was through, she called Alessandro. A receptionist told her he was out. Clarice asked the woman where she could buy some lunch. She was unsure if she should be angry at Alessandro.

After lunch, she worked her way through the pile of information in overfilled manila folders, but had only managed a third when Alessandro entered the room. It turned dark outside already.

"How are you doing?" he asked. "I saw a note, you called me. For lunch, I think? I'm sorry, I was out and had no time to tell you. Something came up and we had to check it."

"It's okay," Clarice said.

"Would you like some dinner? Nothing fancy, not like yesterday. A good meal, that's all. And then perhaps I show you Milan?"

"Sure. And I'll pay this time!"

Alessandro started to speak, but Clarice's face made him reconsider.

"Okay," he said. [MB]

**A/N~ The Major is on vacation for the next two weeks, so our story will not be updated until his return. Also, just wanted to throw a big "thank you" out there to those who have taken the time to alert, favorite, or review. **


	13. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Alessandro was true to his word and found them a good meal for cheap. And though last night was exquisite, regarding both their gourmet fare and grand atmosphere, something inside Clarice enjoyed this evening more.

It was more natural somehow, more organic.

They'd walked from the station along the cobbled street until it opened to a square highlighting a domed cathedral, a duomo Alessandro said.

Though night had fallen, a surprising number of children still ran around, their giggles and playful shouts accompanying the gurgle of several fountains.

The air was heavy with humidity, but not much different than back home. It was also filled with aromas from various street vendor stalls; one moment her senses were teased with the rich smell of peppers, onions and sausages frying, then the breeze would subtly shift, and she was greeted with cinnamon and hot oil. It was divine.

With nearly childlike glee she pulled Alessandro to a pizza stall. It was time to taste the real deal. At a glance the pizzas were huge, larger than dinner plates. But the crust was paper-thin and gave a very satisfying crunch as she bit in with solid enthusiasm, no ladylike demureness here.

She noticed Alessandro wasn't eating his, just watching her and grinning. She wiped away sauce from her cheek with the back of her hand and gave him a wink. Then she went in for another bite and caught a fresh basil leaf, its edges crispy from the heat of the oven. Delicious.

They walked slowly, meandering, savoring the evening and their dinner. Clarice had just finished up her last bite when she saw the stall the cinnamon smell must be coming from. Alessandro followed her rather fixated gaze and said, "Ah, zeppole. Have you ever tried one, fresh?"

She shook her head and they made their way over. Alessandro handed over a few euros, and Clarice didn't make a fuss since she'd bought the pizza. Nobody was keeping tabs anyway; she just didn't like one person always footing the bill. The vendor handed her a paper cone filled with little balls of dough, deep fried and sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. Lifting them to her nose she couldn't quite suppress the moan that escaped her lips. Biting into it, she experienced the fragrant smell and then taste of a fresh scraped vanilla bean.

Alessandro laughed loudly. "You know, the zeppole might be making you moan more than I did." He immediately blushed, but Clarice was delighted.

She laughed and said, "Well, it's good to have a goal. Something to work towards." His head lowered to hers, and they enjoyed a soft kiss. Before pulling away completely his tongue traced her bottom lip, licking away granules of sugar.

He straightened, and they stood studying each other for a moment. Clarice felt a niggling at the back of her neck, and in her peripheral vision she saw an elderly woman watching them. Aware of the sight they must be, her nearly fifteen years Alessandro's senior, she couldn't help but smile. Even now, after all this time of living in and succeeding in a man's world she could still be surprised at double standards. If she were with a man of around sixty nobody would bat an eye. A very specific older gentleman immediately sprang to mind…

"Alessandro, it's late now. Dark. Could we tour Milan tomorrow so I can truly see it?"

She caught the ricochet of disappointment in his dark eyes, but he graciously replied. "Of course. I'll meet you at the station at 8:00." [D]

Next morning, after a good night's sleep and an invigorating work-out in the hotel gym, Clarice drove to the station and saw Alessandro waiting for her outside.

"Buongiorno, Clarice. I don't know if you want some coffee first? If you do, we'll get some from over there," he started.

"Buongiorno, Alessandro. No coffee, thanks. Do you want some?"

"I've had some at home."

"Let's go then."

They walked down the cobbled street, just like yesterday evening. But at 8 o'clock in the morning, sweet scents and romance were nowhere to be found. The city was awakening, cars and motorinos were started to get to work, the blue fumes filling the city and Clarice decided to keep on using the hotel's facilities in the morning.

"Here's the duomo again," Alessandro said as they entered the square after their quarter of an hour walk.

"Alessandro, will you be my guide today? I mean, pretend I'm more than a plain tourist who'll be here for only one day and tell me about the true city? I want you to tell me what it is like to be Milanese. Can you do that?"

He looked at her for some time, then nodded as he understood what she wanted.

"Well then, tell me about Milan."

He nodded and thought for a moment, deciding what to tell her and how. He suddenly remembered something she might find interesting.

"You know, Milan is nicknamed 'The Moral Capital of Italy'. Just don't ask me why, okay?" he said and laughed his contagious smile. Clarice could not help but join him in his merriment.

"The statue you see is of Vittorio Emanuele II, the first king of a united Italy. You know Italy used to be many smaller kingdoms? We've fought many wars against each other. Wars are strange, they cost lives but they inspire people into invention and improvement at the same time."

"I remember Rinaldo Pazzi," he added and looked at her to see if she wouldn't mind the subject. When he saw she was fine, he continued. "I wasn't with the Questura yet, as you will understand, but I remember reading about it in the papers. The Corriere della Sera had a good series of articles on Rinaldo and Hannibal. I guess you could say it got me into the Questura."

"Good for you," Clarice said. Alessandro smiled.

"Now, the duomo," he said. "It took six hundred years to build and one of the largest cathedrals in the world and the largest in Italy by far. Many think the Saint Peter in Rome is larger, but that's not a cathedral. And I think this duomo is the most beautiful one in the world. The marble makes it shine in the sun, many people need sunglasses when they come here to look at it. Shall we go inside? And then on the roof?"

Clarice nodded in approval. Alessandro led her inside.

As they walked inside and Alessandro told Clarice all the little details he knew, about both the duomo and his city, Alessandro slowly became more and more aware of how proud he actually was to be Milanese. The pleasure slowly seeped into his words. The more he talked, the more enjoyable his monologue became. Clarice listened intensely to his words and smiled at his apparent delight. With broad arm gestures, he pointed out the buildings and places he told her about, or his arms were gesturing, trying to shape the air into what he was discussing.

.

After the duomo, he told her he'd like to take her to the Sforza Castle, another impressive building and a good start for many stories. Alessandro guided her through the city, progressing towards the castle, but he made sure they walked by the Scala, the world famous opera house and home to the professional Chorus, Ballet and Orchestra.

"Claudio Abbado conducted here, and Riccardo Muti. Ricardo was recently replaced by Daniel Barenboim."

Clarice's mind wandered off. She could imagine the doctor visiting this opera house during his Florentine days. He'd be attracted to the quality of the building and the musicians. And now she stood here, too. Her gut wrenched somewhat at the thought. Or maybe she was just hungry.

"I think it's time for lunch, Alessandro," she said.

"Yes it is," he answered. "I know just the place to have a nice meal."

.

After lunch, they slowly strolled towards the Castello Sforzesco. Alessandro had ordered an Averna after lunch, claiming his stomach was a bit uneasy. They walked their slow pace to improve his digestion instead of ruining it. During their walk, Clarice could see it worked.

"The case is difficult, as you know. We've been working very hard to capture this man... or woman," he added and could see Clarice walking next to him turn her head, "and we all feel the pressure. Stress is a disaster for the digestive system."

"Tell me about it," Clarice sighed.

Alessandro turned his face and she knew he didn't understand.

"No, I don't mean you have to tell me again. I meant I know the feeling. It's an expression."

Alessandro nodded, indicating he understood now.

"Let me tell you about the castle and the Sforza family," he said. "The Sforzi were the reigning family of Milan. The dynasty was founded by Muzio Attendolo. They reigned with force and ruse and power politics. _Sforzare_ means 'to force'. It served mostly as a true fort and citadel. The surrounding walls are 3 kilometers long. But after the unification of Italy it lost its military use. It was renovated and now its holds several museums: the Museum of Ancient Art and the Museum of Musical Instruments for instance."

Again, Clarice's mind swiftly brought back memories. Ten years ago, while trying to locate Hannibal Lecter, she had tried to get a picture of the doctor's taste and preferences. Art and music most certainly were on that list. It strengthened her idea he would have visited Milan while residing in Florence. She could almost imagine feeling his scrutinizing eyes on her back right now. She turned to see but she – of course – didn't find him among the crowd. Then she wondered what she could and would have done, had she spotted him. Probably nothing at the moment, knowing it would be useless to confront him in such a way.

"Let me get us some tickets," Alessandro said.

Once inside, they toured the castle. Alessandro had bought Clarice a booklet, but his words were entertaining enough for her. They took their time and soon it neared four o'clock. At a certain point, Alessandro wasn't fully sure of the facts and asked if he could check the booklet. Clarice took it from her bag and gave it to him. As he flipped through the pages, one image caught her eyes and she immediately asked him for the booklet. Amazed, but seeing she was serious, he gave it to her right away.

Clarice slowly turned the pages one by one until she found the image she'd seen. It was very familiar. Where had she seen it before? Suddenly, it struck her. In a swift movement, nearly as quick as she could draw her gun, she took out her cell phone and browsed the pictures. Yes! There it was – the serpent. Her employer's letter with the wax seal. A winding, crowned serpent with a person in its jaws. It now occurred to her the man might as well be coming from the jaws, instead of being swallowed.

"Hey – that's from the Sforza coat of arms!" Alessandro uttered surprised as he saw the image on the display.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said – that seal is from the Sforza family. Well, partly, it's only the basilisk and the man. Wait a minute – it's the Visconti coat of arms – the family that preceded the Sforzi. I've seen such wax seals before, there still are Visconti in Milan, you know? And they still are famous, rich and influential."

Clarice added one and one within a split second.

_Visconti. Rich. A wealthy employer. The second victim the only one from a wealthy family, living in Gorla, where rich Milanese built their villas along the canal._

"This" she said to Alessandro, "is the wax seal from a letter I found. It intrigued me. It seems I now discovered who sent it. Nothing of importance, though."

"Okay," he said and waited for her, so they could continue their tour.

_What was the name of the victim? Maria, yes. Eight years old. Oldest one of the five lambs slaughtered. Murdered... ummm.. October 1__st__, 2004. It took my employer 2 years to lose faith in quick results by the Questura and contact me. Yeah, Maria's father is my employer, has to be. He hired me to catch this murderer still at large, still out there..._

"You know what, Alessandro?" she suddenly said.

He looked at her inquisitively.

"It's been a wonderful day and tour. But I'm getting tired and I want to get back."

She saw Alessandro took her words as an invitation. She had to keep herself from smiling at his genuine joy in the prospect.

"No, Alessandro. Really, you're a bad man, you know that? I meant the station. I think I'll work my way through another stack. That material deserves my full attention."

She saw his face drop, and decided it would improve the situation if they knew what to expect from each other.

"Listen, Alessandro. The primary reason I'm here is the case. You're fabulous, nearly as good as the zeppole yesterday," she added with a disarming grin, "but I have to keep my priorities straight. By the way, I've heard men say anticipation works very well as an aphrodisiac, too. Let me work my way through the heap of information at the Questura, then I'll treat you to an evening and night to remember, okay?"

Alessandro knew she meant it. And he decided he could live with her terms.

"D'accordo", he said and watched if she'd understand, but almost immediately she leaned forward and kissed him.

"Great. Now, will you please take me to the station, shortest route please?" [MB]

Once again Clarice stood in El Medico's shrine, she could think of the room as nothing else now. El Medico's heinous acts had granted him... her, empowerment. An oily film of fear floated over the city. The crimes were dispersed enough, in both time and distances, to avoid a full public panic. But a low humming anxiety surely buzzed in the back of many parents' minds; a child killer was on the loose. Many would be more vigilant because of it. Yet thinking back to just last night, the children running loose and carefree through the square, Clarice knew ready victims would always be available. The fear, the public's unease, the sensationalized and cheap articles in the tabloids, they all granted El Medico just that much more power. It was visceral, it was just so damn human. The creation of a god, the creation of a boogeyman.

It is a common theme in many religions that deities' powers are directly linked to the homage paid them. Every time a person purchased a magazine with grainy photo shopped crime scene pictures or schoolchildren delightfully tantalized each other with bloody tales of a monster that dissected babies, El Medico's dark legacy grew. It was a process Clarice had long ruminated over.

She remembered the day she stopped believing in God. At least the god of faithful Southern Baptists, or later, the same god with a slightly different doctrine of the Lutherans. If that god existed, maybe he was schizophrenic, or at the very least suffered from multiple personalities.

"_You must be fully submerged in the renewing waters."_

"_Oh no Brother, a sprinkling will do." _

Though it was the most traumatic time in her childhood, her faith hadn't been lost the day her father died. Her belief had remained then, vibrant and pure, in the manner that only a child can possess.

Doubt came later.

Mama insisting on bedtime prayers that always ended with a "Thank you for our many blessings." What blessings? Daddy dead and gone, cold in a hole somewhere? Mama tired and irritable, maybe not working her fingers to the bone literally, but they did bleed and crack from the scrubbing and the chemicals. And then there was helping her mother with her maid's work, cleaning what faceless strangers left behind in the motel rooms. It made her feel dirty in a way that soap couldn't help, dirty and low. Mama said there was pride to be had for a hard day's work. Clarice was just ashamed.

Then one morning Mama didn't take the turn to the motel. She kept driving into town, their old truck shuddering and wheezing.

She parked in front of a building with a sign labeled "Department of Human Services." Mama had been calm through it all, quiet, but that was normal when she was especially tired. And she remained calm when she finally turned to Clarice, identical pairs of blue eyes meeting.

"Baby, we can't make it like this. We're not gonna make it." That day Clarice entered the system. And she stopped believing in any higher power. It didn't make sense, what they'd always told her. If God was all-powerful and pure love, why would so many bad things happen? Why would he demand constant praise for the paltry little he did bestow on the beings he created? Was he that petty, that narcissistic?

Clarice decided then that the only power god has is was what people gave him.

She stared at the "before" photos of the five children, four of them professional shots, their eyes sparkling and vibrant and _alive_. But one "before" shot stood apart from the others. It was a Polaroid. And the child was an infant. She was sleeping, and looking very similar to the "after" photo.

Though far from unfeeling, Clarice disregarded the twinge in her chest and tried to take a mental step back from the images.

The obvious differences of the victims had already been explored by the detectives.

Though all were children, there was a significant span of ages.

Three came from wealthy families, and one from solid middle class. The last one, the infant, had belonged to a struggling single mother.

Three males, two females.

Three lived in Milan, two in nearby provinces.

Though no perceptible link had been established among the children, Clarice didn't get a sense of "desperate randomness."

They had been specifically, carefully selected. She knew it because they had nothing in common. With the long ago Buffalo Bill case he had a body type preference that tied the victims together. It took the agency longer to attach significance to the "where" and "when" of the murders. Frankly, without the doctor's help, they may never have realized the importance of the order of the deaths, that Jame Gumb had known Frederica Bimmel.

_Why these five?_

_And who was next? _[D]


	14. Chapter 1o

**Chapter 10**

As she looked at the little child lying in bed, she grieved. To know this innocent little thing was molested hurt. That was the worst part of this whole business. It positively made her sick to see and think of all the evil things they did to them.

_Poor little thing._

_I'm here to make it all go away._

Yes, she'd make it all go away. She had helped the other children, she would save this one too from the clutches of those devilish people who dared call themselves parents. They had lost their right to having the responsibility of a child. They had forfeited it.

_I have something for you that will make it all go away..._

With good old-fashioned red rubber household gloves on, she took a little bottle from her bag and unscrewed its cap. Carefully, she leaned over the sleeping child and gently opened its lips with one hand. With the other hand, she dropped the contents of the bottle into the child's mouth. She saw her swallow.

_Well done, my baby, well done._

She capped the bottle and replaced it in her bag. She took out another bottle, somewhat larger than the previous. She unscrewed its cap and holding the bottle with her left hand, she poured some of its contents into her right hand. Then, with solemn movements, she sprinkled the child's forehead three times with some water.

_In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit..._

She then waited for the poison to do its work. While waiting, she tried not to think about the difficult job ahead. [MB]

She consciously matched her breathing to the child's, slower, softer. At the last exhale she held her own breath and forced her mind into a separate plane.

It seemed a lifetime ago that she'd taken weekly yoga classes. The doctor, along with many of the books she read, said stress reduction would greatly increase their odds. At first her frustrations at trying to de-stress only increased her feelings of anxiety, and she felt like an idiot sprawled out on the spongy pink mat. But she wanted it so badly, _he_ wanted it so badly, that she stuck with it and willed her body and then mind into compliance. Finally she could reach true stages of meditation. Her time on that pink mat never did result in two pink lines, but it was a handy trick to be able to flip that switch in her brain.

Of course she now knew the teachings from her yoga instructor were blasphemous. She was a convert to the True Church. Only He had been able to answer their prayers. And what the Lord gives, the Lord..

She swallowed a strangled sob and forced her mind back into a removed state so she could accomplish the Lord's work.

The scalpel reflected dimly in the moonlight, its color muted silver, soft and pretty. [D]

Her fingers took hold of a bit of hair, the last two inches of the girl's dark and lush hair. Carefully, she cut it off and placed it inside a small box she retrieved from her bag.

_I'll make sure you will be remembered. People will know you are a saint._

Then she moved the child into position for butchering. A nasty job, but inevitable. This child had sinned, too. The child itself had to be its own sin-offering. How else could she go to heaven immediately?

She could feel her hands moved with more knowledge and accuracy than before, she was getting experienced at this. But still, it was a gory and sickening thing to do. She'd never get used to this. She made the first cut from the throat, then across the chest and abdomen, ending at the child's private parts. The skin separated and a large opening appeared, through which she would be able to remove the intestines.

The child's blood flowed freely now, but not spurting, without the blood pumping it. Still, she took care not to spoil her clothes. Blood made such nasty stains. Luckily, most blood was absorbed by the mattress.

One thing had to be done with the blood. So she took out a small container from her bag and filled it with blood from the abdominal cavity. As before, a visit to one of the cities many churches the next day would allow her to put the blood upon an altar, and pour the remaining blood at its base. And leave the hair, the relic, there also.

_When we're done, my baby, I will make atonement and you shall be forgiven..._

She started to remove the child's intestines. The entrails were always first to be removed, they created room in the abdomen and they were hardest to remove. After that, everything else would be easy. She tied two pieces of rope at the beginning of the duodenum, then cut the intestines between the two knots. Then she placed the duodenum next to the child's hips and started to transfer the long strand. As she neared the end, she made sure to keep the rectum closed by tying another knot there, before severing it from the sphincter.

That sickening part performed, she severed the stomach, after tying that up too at the cardia. She placed it somewhere on the bed. The bladder followed, then the liver and the kidneys. All intestines were carefully removed from the dead girl's abdomen, with knots to keep the contents from spoiling, if necessary.

All this done, she took a few deep breaths. This child was safe as could be for now. Tomorrow morning, she would sacrificially finish the job.

_You're safe now, baby. They can't hurt you anymore. _

She was relieved her gruesome job was done, she really hated it. But the children needed to attain redemption. If she were to save them, she had to make the sacrifice.

There was one more thing to do. This always made her feel better. Gently, she turned the girl on her side and tucked her in, as if fast asleep. She took a final look and smiled. The girl was safe now. [MB]

Murky predawn light spilled in through a single slit in the posh, floor length curtains of Clarice Starling's suite. It allowed her just enough illumination to study her sleeping partner's profile. He really was ridiculously handsome, from his Grecian nose to his chiseled jaw and beyond. She could see movement under the delicate skin of his eyelids and knew he was dreaming. The lashes gracing those lids were long, thick and actually curled at the end.

A snort from her ruffled strands of his silky hair as she thought, not for the first time, that she was sleeping with a man prettier than herself.

But there was much more to him than just an attractive face.

What had started as a convenient tumble in the sack had evolved into something more.

They'd been working the Il Medico case for a little over two months now. After those first days of establishing boundaries, they settled into a comfortable division of work and private life.

He possessed an earnestness, paired with what could only be called naiveté, that had initially annoyed her. He was young enough and inexperienced enough to still believe in absolutes; to him there was right or wrong, good or evil, with the law or against it. Now Clarice had adjusted to his perspective and found it almost quaint. It brought to mind the long ago agent she'd been, with similar principals, hell-bent on saving the world. A world she knew now was colored with shades of gray.

He was also intelligent, quick to laugh, and genuinely kind. The last attribute worked its way under Clarice's skin, and she felt a loosening from somewhere deep inside as she extended him a tenuous trust she granted very few. As more time passed, she knew that trust would strengthen. The thought frightened her, aside from Ardelia and a handful of others no one had penetrated the armor she'd so long ago erected around her heart. People died. Worse, people chose to leave. The loss could only be bearable if a distance was maintained. But a few friends had slipped through over the years. And one man had touched her heart.

Perhaps it was more accurate to say he'd taken her heart, because lying here in this luxurious bed with a gorgeous and truly _good_ man, she wasn't satisfied. She ached, and she wanted someone who was probably more a creation of her mind than anything flesh and blood; half a dozen conversations paired with a decade of internal dialogue of what she thought he might say. _God Clarice, you're an idiot_.

Her musings were interrupted by her phone vibrating and she took a moment to wonder if Ardelia was still screwing up the time difference.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Starling?" said a gravely, heavily accented voice.

"Yes? Speaking."

"This is Ispettore Gregoris…" just then Alessandro's phone started to ring, and Clarice knew before Gregoris finished his statement, "signora, another one has been found. Il Medico has killed again." [D]


	15. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Clarice arrived first at the murder scene, beating Alessandro to it with more than two minutes. It wasn't something they had actually agreed upon, to see who would reach the site first. Some things don't need to be said for the other to hear, some things don't need to be agreed upon to be ratified. And Clarice realized there would be people, perhaps even many, who would consider this little race to the site bad taste. But Clarice reflected and decided she didn't mind.

Two months had been spent on the case so far. Two months of working her way through each and every little scrap of information. Two months of visiting places and interviewing people, hearing what she already knew. She was getting weary of second hand information.

It was the moments when she found some new bit of information, or caught the whiff of a possible lead, that reminded her what she was there for: to add her insight to the impressive task force, to aid the Questura in their search. Not that there had been many moments. The murderer's randomness was only a mask hiding the simple truth. What the doctor once told and asked her kept coming to mind, stabbing her pride relentlessly along the way.

_First principles, Clarice. Simplicity. Read Marcus Aurelius._

_What is the first and principal thing he does? What needs does he serve by killing?_

Just as with Jame Gumb, there was a reason why. There was a unique sense of logic behind the bizarre ritual. All Clarice had to do was find the reason behind the madness. And she knew how good it felt to find it.  
>.<p>

"Signora. Good to have you here."

"Ispettore Gregoris, how are you?"

"_Bene, grazie_," he said and nodded to Alessandro, who had just joined them.

"_Buongiorno_," Alessandro said.

"Is there anything you would like to do?" Alessandro asked Clarice, "This is your first fresh crime scene since you have arrived. I do not know if you want something?"

"I'm fine, thank you. I only have a few questions."

"Bene," Grigoris said in answer.

"Please excuse me, Clarice, I see Chiara and Paolo. I am going to talk with them, okay? I will be back quickly."

"Sure, I'll be here," she said and turned to the old man she had come to admire.

"Ispettore Gregoris, I'd like to be as open minded towards the evidence as possible. If possible, I'd like you to refrain from mentioning anything that might influence me later on when I visit the crime scene. But is there anything you think I should know right now?"

"Would you like to know more about the parents?" he asked.

Clarice could swear that the man looked slightly embarrassed for a brief moment, something she hadn't seen before with this man.

"Hm, yes, please."

"The father... he's familiar. He has been in jail before."

"What for?"

"Sexual intercourse with the other daughter, the oldest."

"I see." [MB]

Clarice was still mulling the revelation over when Alessandro returned. "Clarice, we could use your help over there. The mother is an American, her Italian isn't so good. We've interviewed her, but could you speak with her as well?"

Clarice turned to Gregoris, "What was the mother's stance when the father was convicted?" Usually parents are the first suspects in the murder of a child, though the MO here fit Il Medico they couldn't rule out a copy cat, not yet. Maybe the mother was the killer, maybe the father was the killer with or without the mother's involvement, or maybe she was merely a woman consumed by the most shattering of griefs. No matter the scenario, some background would help Clarice better question her.

"She refused to testify against her husband. The daughter, the victim, hushed up too. But her first statement and the physical evidence was enough to put him away, though not for as long as he deserved."

Clarice pushed passed the cold iron shaft of rage toward a woman that failed to protect her young, first at home and then in the courts. The emotion bore no usefulness to the task at hand, so with a few careful breaths she tucked it away for examination at some later time.

Gregoris continued, now with a tight, mean lipped little smile that looked wrong on that normally tranquil face. "But he got payback. In jail, the criminals have their own social system, their own rankings of people. People who hurt children, they are pond scum. Dirt. Just a few days into his sentence some of the other inmates, ah, took care of him. Made it to where he couldn't hurt his daughter, or any other little girl like that again." A single blink from Clarice as she processed just what he meant by _that._ It didn't matter, she'd known cases where offenders had been chemically castrated but still found ways to meet dark needs. What kind of a broken system would return a monster like that to a home with children? But she knew it happened in the US too. Again, she purposefully redirected her inner turmoil as it was irrelevant to her current duty.

"While the husband was in jail, did the mother try to leave that you know of? Take her children and go back to the States?"

Gregoris shook his head, "No, she waited for him here, visited him in jail, and then the infirmary, often. At that time they only had the one little girl. The second came when he returned home." And for just a moment the thought _now she's gone, out of his reach_ skittered through Clarice's brain.

"Okay, thank you." She squeezed his shoulder as she walked by, by no means a toucher, but something about this veteran inspector inspired an affection that she imagined people might feel toward a grandparent. He hid his sharp mind behind a sleepy smile, but these last two months Clarice had come to appreciate his attention to detail and nearly perfect recall. Tonight she was counting on it.

She crossed the foyer and walked down a long narrow hall to find the mother sitting on a couch in the living room. At a glance Clarice took in her frozen features, devoid of any trace of tears, her fashionable clothing that was not in accord with the modest apartment, and her bright red manicured toenails encased in strappy sandals with four inch heels. What kind of a mother wears shoes like that with a four year old to chase? Apparently this one. She'd been sitting, legs crossed, hands clasped, but stood at Clarice's arrival.

"Ma'am." Clarice reached out a hand, even now in front of a woman she already hated, good manners persisted. Almost robotically the woman extended her hand as well, and Clarice saw the black grunge under the neatly filed nails. She knew that texture and exact shade well enough; the woman had touched the child's body. She'd obviously washed her hands but some blood remained embedded. They would need to do a scraping and process her clothes, but best to save that until after she'd gleaned what she could from an interview. [D]

.

After a few excruciating hours Clarice decided she had done all she could possibly want to do and all she could not avoid doing. The questioning of the mother had not revealed any specific details. The child had been put to bed the same way as any other day, nothing out of the ordinary there. But an uncomfortable feeling remained; something did not feel right with this woman. Clarice decided to keep an eye on her. And her husband. Who knows if and what he did to his youngest daughter. Clarice, though not a mother and not desperately trying to become one, shuddered at the thought.

So, after saying goodbye to the team, Clarice drove back to the hotel and fired up her laptop. She wanted to inform Mr. X. of these fresh developments. In a jiffy - she still marveled at the speed of her new laptop - she started MSN Messenger and saw her employer was offline. She left him a note.

Clarice went to the bathroom and started to fill the bath. She recently bought a bottle of YSL Paris shower gel and a good splash in the bath would work miracles right now - she felt dirty. The released aromas filled the bathroom and Clarice smiled in delight. Then she went back into the room, walked over to her small but nice collection of books and picked something fun and easy to read in the tub. Finally, she undressed and went back into the bathroom to enjoy a hot and long bath.

After the bath, Clarice checked her laptop again, dressed only in her bathrobe. She'd order something from room service this evening instead of going to a restaurant. Looking at the screen, she saw Mr. X. was online.

_[Starling_PI] Read my note?_

_[JanusBifrons] Yes. Another death to mourn._

_[Starling_PI] I'm sorry_

_[JanusBifrons] What for?_

_[Starling_PI] For still not catching murderess_

_[JanusBifrons] You don't need to be. Just do your job and revenge all of us who mourn._

_[Starling_PI] I will_

_[JanusBifrons] Any developments? Or new clues?_

_[Starling_PI] Nothing so far - same MO no progress_

_[JanusBifrons] MO?_

_[Starling_PI] Modus Operandi - the way somebody works_

_[JanusBifrons] And you feel you're not making any progress?_

_[Starling_PI] No, killer is not progressing_

Clarice sighed in frustration.

_[Starling_PI] No evolution in method - same things just keep popping up_

_[JanusBifrons] I'm sure you'll find something._

_[Starling_PI] Is always one clue that helps solve the case_

_[JanusBifrons] Good luck, Ms. Starling. Arrivederci._

_[Starling_PI] Bye _[MB]


	16. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

A shrill ringing jarred Clarice from her sleep; it took her a moment to place the sound. It was the setting for unknown numbers, and since she was cautious with her information it was an extremely rare occurrence. But it had been less than twenty-four hours since Il Medico's last kill, and it was likely someone at the lab calling her with results. Without a second thought she answered, "Starling."

"Good evening Clarice, or rather, good morning."

"Dr. Lecter."

In those two words her drawl was more evident than it had been in years, stone fingers gripping the phone, breaths shallow.

"Truly sorry to disturb your slumber, I would have avoided it if I could. You're a very challenging woman to catch alone these days." His voice maintained a jovial civility, the exact tone with which he'd addressed a young trainee bearing a temporary ID nearly two decades ago. Mocking. Like there was a joke she didn't perceive but she was somehow part of the punch line. Well fuck you doctor.

"Up to your old tricks doctor? Really, it gets to a point where it's not becoming for a man of your age to be crouching in bushes."

"Indeed?" Now there was a true fire to his voice; good. "Hiding behind a bush seems to indicate a certain, shall we say, discretion, on the part of those being observed. A discretion you and your….ah, partner, have not exercised. So many of your activities have been open for the public's viewing pleasure."

She felt the sting of his words like a paper cut seeping blood. She struck back, angry and outraged, "But that's not what bothers you, is it Doctor Lecter. I think you're more concerned by what goes on behind my bedroom door when it closes, not that it's any of your business."

In the silence that followed a wave of surrealism crashed over Clarice. God, Doctor Lecter was calling her in the middle of the night and she was antagonizing him with her sex life? Her mind flashed back to the image of a severed thumb and growing pool of blood.

"Clarice, forgive me. And because I think you deserve honesty, yes. Visualizing any romantic scenario between you and another man leaves me feeling cold; I am human after all. I can accept you finding sexual release with another, it's healthy. However, watching some adolescent Italian fop lick sugar from the lips I've touched but once…I've never wanted to tear out a man's tongue more than in that moment."

Clarice's hard swallow was audible to Hannibal Lecter's ears. She glanced to the empty place next to her in bed. She feared for Alessandro, yes. But the emotion played second to a deeper thrill shooting through her that was something else entirely.

Finally collecting herself, she asked, "Alright Doctor Lecter, somehow I don't think we've gotten to the purpose of your call." [D]

"Indeed, we have not. Do you consider that my fault?"

_Fuck you again doctor_ Clarice thought. Two can play that game.

"No it was not your fault. I started. But this last question feels as much like evasion as my words did. Now, can we cut to the chase?"

"Of course," the man that had settled himself in her mind said and she could hear the grin on his face in his words.

"_Il Medico_ has had my attention for quite some time now," he continued. "And since you know me a little, part of you might find this hard to believe, but I think it's rather a disturbing idea that this person is still not incarcerated."

Words from long ago came to mind. Someone wondered how many lunatics Dr. Lecter might have turned loose just for fun. Doctor Lecter saying he preferred to have one of them locked away was the exact opposite and indeed hard to believe.

"Since we're looking for a way to catch this person, we're looking for either a common factor or a true anomaly in the murders."

Her eyes opened wide as she realized what her sagacious late night caller was offering her: help catching Il Medico. That would certainly be better than the mere sound of his often mocking voice in her head, no matter how helpful it had been at times.

On the other hand, his help was never for free. His actions and words had never been in vain, they had always been done and spoken for his own pleasure or to his own advantage. What was it he wanted this time? What did she possess he might be interested in?

"I hope you're not saying anything because you were getting the file, Clarice?"

She realized her silence was a mistake and immediately opened the manila folder she always kept at hand, even in her hotel room.

"I have the file, Doctor Lecter."

"What common factors have you found? I think none?"

"Nothing, Doctor Lecter. We've found nothing yet."

"Clarice?"

"Yes Doctor?"

"Would you allow me the pleasure of addressing me by my given name? You're no longer a trainee and some time and events have passed that I think ratify its use."

The request shocked her already disturbed mind. What was his game? Go with it, or not? She answered him after a moment's thought. Maybe knowing him for nearly two decades, having been kissed by him, hearing his voice in her head and sometimes thinking of him in ways most people would find disturbing, might just be enough reason to go with it.

"Okay. I will, … Hannibal."

A heartbeat of silence on Hannibal's end of the line. She could imagine him savoring the moment. Just like she was doing.

"Thank you, Clarice. Will you please tell me your first thoughts when you looked at this case? What did you notice? Or what failed?"

"There's no pattern so far. At first it seemed she..."

"_She_, Clarice?"

"Yes, Do... Hannibal. I believe Il Medico is a woman. The Questura agrees with me, they focus on the murderer being a woman but haven't made it a prime feature in their search yet. Nor made it public."

"Continue, please."

"At first it seemed she chose children from wealthy families. But that was proven wrong. It's not in Milan alone, she killed in other provinces also. It's not about girls or boys or a specific age. Youngest victim was seven months, the oldest eight years. We've found nothing all parents have in common. No football club, no Weight Watchers, no common brand of car... we've found shit," she sighed. "Sorry for that last bit," she added.

"That's okay. And what anomalies did you find?"

"Each murder had a different note or notes at the time. All anomalies have popped up at later murders, but I'll tell you anyway. The second victim was a girl. The third murder was the first one outside of Milan. The murderess cut some hair from the fourth victim. The fifth victim was the first from a single-parent family. The sixth victim... I can't think of something special there. Yet."

"Hm. And the dates don't mean anything, I noticed."

"No. They don't match anything we've known murderers to match their killings with."

A gentle silence then hung between them. Clarice wondered if Hannibal was thinking about the case or just listening to her breathing.

"Have you been to all of the crime scenes?" Hannibal finally asked.

Clarice was torn between thinking he already knew or that he was playing some sort of game, and that he really didn't know. Let's take a chance...

"No. I haven't visited the ones outside of Milan yet."

"Maybe it's time you do," Hannibal suggested. A moment later Clarice was listening to the aggravating sound of an ended call. [MB]


	17. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

He watched the beige Musa pull out of the hotel's parking garage and caught glints of red highlights through the windshield. The hair color suited her; flames and passion. Glimpses of her still caused something within him to burn though he'd been observing her for nearly two months. Watching her do mundane tasks like read a newspaper made him ache; he wanted to curl up next to her and have a philosophical conversation about world events. When she sat down to eat a meal, he wished he had prepared it for her and could share her table. It felt as if his organs were scalding, curling upon themselves, blisters forming. He knew it wouldn't abate until they finally had a direct confrontation. Their reckoning. Soon.

She was an assertive driver, zipping through the city's narrow streets. He expertly followed, but it offered challenge enough to be entertaining. Hannibal experienced a quick thrill of gratification when she continued to travel southeast instead of taking a right to the Questura station. Her plans for today didn't include the fop. A grin revealed small white teeth; perhaps his should. But that would mean forfeiting a day with Clarice.

She was obviously leaving the city, but made two stops first. She pulled up to a small petrol station alongside the road and fueled up. Then, much to his chagrin, she went through a McDonald's drive-thru buying only God knows what atrocity. Cringing at the thought of the oily rubbish she was about to eat, he shook his head. _Really my dear? That's breakfast?_ Though he wasn't actually surprised. This was a woman who spent forty-five minutes in the gym each morning and then would consume two cinnamon rolls and an entire pot of coffee.

Her contrasts fascinated him, and heremembered the good bag and cheap shoes.

Finally they continued their journey to a destination that he estimated was likely the third crime scene. Mantua. My, she did act swiftly. He wondered how long it had taken her to fall back asleep last night, or if she'd managed to at all. [D]

A two hour drive lay ahead of them. Hannibal entertained himself during the drive reading Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet in his Memory Palace and musing what Clarice was doing in her car to kill time. He enjoyed his little game of cat and mouse, yet had not breached her privacy by installing some listening device, or even a camera, in her car. While Hannibal normally prepared for any contingency he could think of, he would never let his mind run wild on incredulous fantasies or impossible scenarios. Yet, when it came to Clarice, he found visualizing actions by or interactions with Clarice an enjoyable method of entertaining himself.

He overtook her car some time after they had passed the city of Bergamo to avoid detection. He knew she could spot a car following her, but not one awaiting her. The classic Alfa Romeo Giulietta Spider Hannibal was driving was perhaps not the most common car around, but in this country not conspicuous either, and a very nice car to drive. He knew Clarice was a car buff, but mostly on American cars and contemporary luxury models. For today, he had put the top up, of course, to avoid detection. Knowing he'd meet her in Mantua, he exceeded the speed limit slightly more than necessary.

At Mantua, Hannibal parked his car at a distance from the house where the murderess had struck for the third time. He listened to the ticking of the engine cooling down. With all his insight, he wondered why he had not seen the killer was a woman, and Clarice had. It most probably was some tiny clue the Questura had overlooked. And the detail had not been made public - he was sure he would have noticed it himself. He'd have to ask her then.

He walked around a bit to check if his car was truly unnoticeable. Parked just in the shade, and - seen from the house - with the sun behind it, he was sure Clarice would not notice him there, nor would there be a reflection in his binocular lenses. He saw a bakery at some distance, walked over and bought a beef pastrami ciabatta. He strolled back to his car and ate it behind the wheel, taking care no crumbs would spoil the car. His binoculars were within easy reach.

Obviously, the murderess had a savior complex. These children could not have roused her temper. She wanted to save them, free them. But from who? The parents were the most logical choice, but no common factor had been found so far.

Always children who suffered. Small, innocent. Like Misha...

There she was. He could feel his heart beat. She deftly parked her car. Hannibal pressed a few buttons on his cell phone and waited for the dial tone. Instead he heard the line was busy. At the same time, he saw Clarice get out of the car, talk into her Bluetooth headset, glance around quickly and walk towards the house. [MB]

"Alessandro, I'm fine. Really. Just feeling nauseous. I'm going to take the day off and hope to feel better. No, don't come over. I don't know if I'm contagious. I'll give you a call this evening." His easy acceptance of the lie was a testament to how little he really knew her. Clarice Starling didn't take sick days.

She might have felt a trickle of guilt for the deception, but it was minor and fleeting. She had business here today, business with someone that didn't concern Alessandro.

Clarice suspected his eyes were on her now. She'd not noticed a tail, but of course, with him, she wouldn't have. Her eyes subtly scanned the lines of parked cars even as she knew he would make sure he was out of sight.

She reached the front door of the rather plain three story building. The third victim's family was wealthy, very well off according to the files. It wasn't apparent by their residence though, at least to her American eyes. The structure itself was large in size, but it mostly resembled an unassuming rectangle devoid of anything architecturally interesting. An attached one story structure looked worn, and not in a genteel kind of way.

Finding no doorbell button, she knocked on one of the heavy wooden doors at the entrance and waited. No answer. Another knock, and she accepted she would have to return later.

_If there was a later for her._ But that was bullshit and she knew it. He wouldn't harm her, at least not physically. The man had severed his own thumb rather than hurt her. The reminder bolstered her courage and she felt herself descending to a quiet, still place. It was the same state of internal calm she reached before squeezing a trigger.

Her Bluetooth indicated an incoming call. Oh, he could definitely see her.

"Good morning Clarice."

"Good morning Hannibal. Care to join me for an espresso?"

If her invitation surprised him it wasn't reflected in his voice. "That depends, does it involve a drive-thru?"

She couldn't help it. She laughed. "You know, they did a study a couple of years back. They gave a group of Americans two cups of coffee in the same types of mug. Most preferred McDonalds to Starbucks."

In a droll voice he replied, "I believe that states more about the Americans than the coffee."

Playfulness put aside, she said simply, "Meet me." [D]

Her straightforwardness delighted Hannibal. He knew he had discomfited her with his unexpected call yesterday. They had relapsed into their old roles then: her trying to ask questions, him playing the mentor. He could sense the difference now. It was more like talking to an _equal_.

"Of course," he answered after a deliberate pause. Though his memory was more tuned to images than sounds, he savored her two words and knew he'd never forget them. "Please walk about 200 yards to your right."

He saw Clarice starting to walk. She didn't look around trying to locate him, which pleased him. He listened to her silence.

"Hannibal?" she asked after a few moments.

"Yes?"

"It's a difficult case. I've been busy for two months now and you have followed this killer for an even longer time. Do you think we'll be able to solve it?"

"I don't see why not, Clarice. We haven't truly combined our forces, have we? But let's not get ahead of things, shall we? By the way, are you really going to have an espresso?"

"Why?"

"Cappuccino is traditionally consumed early in the day, most often as part of the breakfast. You haven't had a decent breakfast yet..."

A silence on the other side of the line. _Bravo_ Hannibal thought. He knew how difficult it was for her to refrain from responding to his teasing.

"Turn left there," he said. Then he watched her disappear around the corner through his binoculars.

"At the end, turn left," he continued, "and after 300 yards, turn left again. You'll find the trattoria Ducale on the left of the Piazza Sordello, opposite the Palazzo Ducale. I'll join you there," he said.

"Right," said Clarice and ended the call.

Swiftly, Hannibal got out of his car and walked the shorter route through Via Fratelli Cairoli to the trattoria. [MB]


	18. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Clarice knew of the Piazza Sordello and the Palazzo Ducale. The same day she resigned from the FBI she spent her afternoon driving rather aimlessly, enjoying her freedom to just _be_. No more political bullshit, no more internal pressure to make her long gone father proud. Part of growing is letting go. She felt new and vital. Unexpectedly she had found herself pulling up to a rummage sale. An elderly Black woman gave her a friendly wave from a lawn chair inside the open garage. Two long sheets of plastic stretched down the driveway displaying various odds and ends. Bypassing rows of neatly folded baby clothes, Clarice honed in on a stack of paperbacks; among them one titled _1,000 Places to See Before You Die_. She bought it for a quarter, and that night, stretched out in her tub and sipping a velvety merlot, she read of Mantua. About the noble Gonzaga family and their 500 room fortress turned palazzo.

Now she walked by it, once again feeling a shift, a renewing.

She reached the trattoria, her two months in Italy had taught her to expect something relaxed and informal.

He was there, waiting. She was not surprised; she realized she'd been assuming he would take a shorter path.

There was absolutely no fear, just a rightness. She placed her hand in his outstretched palm, and he raised it to his lips; the gesture quaint, her reaction anything but.

"Hello Hannibal."

And he was smiling and saying, "Please, sit." Finally face to face, at this proximity, her attraction to him was a nearly tangible thing; it felt like she could grip it with two hands and pull it apart like taffy.

He was a slender man, but with a compact strength. Pleasant enough features, intriguing eyes even when disguised with contacts. Older now, distinct creases on his face. But it had never been about his looks. And really, though Clarice could appreciate an attractive face as much as the next person, for her the most dominant trait in a man's appeal was his intellect. Hannibal Lecter was very appealing.

She was aware his eyes conducted their own assessment; she was vain enough to hope he still found her looks pleasing. [D]

"So, tell me Clarice," he said and eyed her, "espresso or cappuccino?" [MB]

"Well, when in Rome…or any other part of Italy…," leaving the expression unfinished, she continued "I'll have a cappuccino." [D]

While Hannibal ordered, Clarice caught a glimpse of Hannibal's left hand. The missing thumb was odd to see. The idea she had caused it was hard to bear. When she looked up, she saw Hannibal watching her and she knew he probably knew what she had been thinking.

"You've survived these ten years less blemished than me," he said. [MB]

"You know better than anyone not all marks are physical, Hannibal." [D]

"True."

A silence hung between them while they had another look at each other.

Being afraid the conversation might take a turn they might not be able to undo, Clarice decided to get down to business. [MB]

"Hannibal, I'm not sure why you have an interest in Il Medico, but I figure you'll tell me in your own time, if you want me to know. For now, I'm just grateful for the assistance. When I took this case I made my employer promise me he would follow legal channels to justice. Frankly, I can't imagine you making the same agreement."

"Say what you mean Clarice. You're asking me to follow the protocols of a flawed, bureaucratic system while children die? Tell me, when you arrived at the last crime scene, weren't your thoughts simply consumed with making it stop?"

She took in a steadying breath and leveled her gaze on him. Somewhere in those questions was the essence of his motive, _when children die_. She thought it no coincidence that the only victim to survive Doctor Lecter had been a child predator, left alive in a daily hell no matter his wealth. _But don't get ahead of yourself Clarice_. She knew better than to try to place Hannibal Lecter in a neatly labeled package. [D]

"Could we avoid the old Q&A game, please?" Clarice said. "You know I want to catch whoever did this."

Hannibal smiled again. He had liked the little deep-roller pigeon that had flown into the asylum eighteen years ago. He had been impressed with the warrior he had met eight years later. He had a woman in front of him now.

"Why do you think Il Medico is a woman?" [MB]

Just then a waiter brought their meal. She eyed the cappuccino gratefully but there were also two warm croissants and a bowl of fresh strawberries. Meeting the waiter's eyes, she said "Grazie." It was important to her to acknowledge he was a person doing something for her, no matter that it was his job. He returned her smile with a genuine one of his own. Through the exchange she felt Hannibal's measuring gaze and she wondered if her actions broke some Old World etiquette.

Lifting her cappuccino and sipping she put her thoughts in order before responding, "At first it was just a gut feeling, something about one of the crime scene pictures. One child had a hank of hair cut off, a souvenir it seemed at first. But that wasn't quite right. It was more like when a mother keeps a lock of her child's hair, saving it in a treasure box. Or like when people would wear mourning jewelry, after someone, especially a child, died. Cutting off curls and putting them in lockets, that type of thing. Then, when you start to think of it from the perspective that the killer's female, other stuff clicks. Women are more likely to kill with poison. The crime scenes show the perp is short and probably lacks physical strength. It fits. But I just know it, she's a woman." [D]

"The poison was not mentioned in the press."

"No. I understand why you kept with the thought it was a man."

She almost added _just like the Questura_...

"It was most probable," she said instead.

"What else did you find? Any pattern or something off key? And what do you make of the _ritual_ she performs?" Hannibal asked. [MB]

"I think ritual is exactly the right word for it. It feels religious, sacrificial. The butchering is always done postmortem, the children die quickly from the white oleander she administers."

"The papers have most generously covered the more gory aspects of the case. My thoughts too went to sacrifice. _Take your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the region of Moriah_." The scripture rolled smoothly from the doctor's tongue.

"God telling Abraham to sacrifice his son" she nearly whispered and Hannibal nodded in acknowledgement.

Clarice knew the story well from her many years of Sunday school. Even as a child it had bothered her that God would make such a request of a parent. [D]

She shuddered at the thought of useless sacrifices.

Hannibal watched her and waited. Their meeting went smoother than he had expected. Of everything he had imagined, this vision had not been the most probable, but it had happened. Here she was. And here he was. So he savored every second of it, every glance she gave him, every word she said to him.

But he knew that soon, after the business part of their conversation concluded, he would not forego switching their chat into a more intimate mode.

Clarice finished her cappuccino and croissants, she hadn't touched the strawberries. Before he could ask, though she didn't know if he would, she spoke.

"I'm allergic to strawberries."

"I did not know."

Clarice met his gaze.

"Even with your intellectual and perceptional gifts, there are some things that others will never know until we decide to share it with them," she said. [MB]

Just like that she steered them to the personal.

"How closely have you been observing me Hannibal?"

"Close enough to monitor your progress on the case. I've tailed you visiting crime scenes. I've been inside 'The Shrine' as you and your associates refer to it."

Clarice took a moment to process_ that_ intriguing nugget of information. Doctor Hannibal Lecter, ranked among the most wanted international criminals, had managed to infiltrate a secure room at a police station constantly teeming with investigators. Really, she didn't know why she was surprised.

"Yet you didn't know about the poison?" she asked, truly puzzled.

"My visit occurred before you took the case. At the time, there was nothing posted about white oleander or any other poison. I've had an interest in Il Medico for some time now. I'd be quite interested to see it now that it's had your influence."

Food for thought, but Clarice returned to her original intention. "Have you used listening devices or cameras on me?"

"No Clarice, that would be a gross invasion of your privacy."

"But watching me kiss my…" She couldn't make herself say boyfriend or any other equivalent, so she tried again, "but watching me kiss Alessandro isn't?" [D]

Meeting his gaze, she had wanted to wait for his answer, but something inside her decided against it.

"I'm sorry for that, Hannibal," she said and turned down her eyes.

Hannibal's heart leapt with joy. He could _feel_ the moment. She had said all without saying it, even if she didn't acknowledge it yet.

There was no need to be jealous of Alessandro. He admitted to himself that he had, in fact, been the victim of that cheap feeling. It had nagged and gnawed at his heart to see them together and to think about it. Of all the emotions he could control, this one, concerning this woman, was one he could not contain. Now that he knew how Clarice really felt about Alessandro, the man was no longer an obstacle on Hannibal's road. And with that, Alessandro was a lucky man, even if he would never know it.

"I'd like to make a suggestion, Clarice," Hannibal said. He gave her some privacy by looking in the direction of the waiter and indicating he'd like to pay.

"Why don't we have a walk? Mantua has been the place for several people to spend time, either off duty or just waiting, voluntarily or involuntarily," Hannibal said with a playful lilt.

"Okay," she answered, "but if you'll excuse me for a moment?"

"By all means," Hannibal replied.

Clarice rose and headed to the back of the trattoria. Hannibal looked at the bill and handed the waiter the amount required and a handsome tip on top of it.

"Grazie," the man replied and smiled. Hannibal nodded in reply. [MB]


	19. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

She, of course, attended Mass daily.

These last years she had, as a part of her sacred duties, made a study of the Lord's dwellings.

For the second day in a row she sat in a pew at the Basilica of Sant'Ambrogio in Milan. Services were over, but many of the faithful continued their prayers.

The history of this place was long and rich, nurtured by the spilled blood of long ago martyrs. And also by those newly sacrificed...

She'd placed the vial containing the child's blood on the altar yesterday.

This building had been bombed during World War II, nearly reduced to rubble. But the altar remained untouched, God's protection evident. They had rebuilt the facade and columns were replaced. But the altar occupied the same space as it had in the time of Saint Ambrose, Saint Ambrose whose bones lay within these walls, relics to the faithful even through the distorted film of sheet glass.

After leaving yesterday she'd spent the day in prayer, fasting. Today she was ready to complete the ritual.

The vial was gone, not a surprise given the flow of bodies through the basilica. Probably it was disposed of by the cleaning crew, but it didn't matter. It had already been placed before God, an act of repentance.

Nor did it did matter that the child had only been a babe; from birth humanity exists in a fallen state. The child was redeemed now, free of the filthy stain of her own sins.

Her debt paid, her soul was pure and already resting in the arms of God. Now she was a saint, offering guidance and strength to the wretched souls still dwelling this earth.

Reaching into her pocket, she fingered the cool metallic clasp of the locket and ran her thumb over the chain links like rosary beads.

Locks of the baby girl's hair were enclosed inside. This locket was now a holy relic the same as the gaping mouthed skull of Saint Ambrose.

Its placement would have to be secure. It needed to stay here in order for the faithful to pay homage.

Two parishioners in front of her departed; the sanctuary was as empty as it would ever get.

Unobtrusively, smoothly, she stood and approached the altar. Genuflecting and then continuing her mission she dropped to both knees at the first step. She bowed her head, her body in a position of abject humility. Her left hand lay flat, fingers spread and just touching the red carpet leading upward. In her right hand she clasped the locket and stretched, stretched until she could reach behind the first step. Feeling the layer of dust, she smiled. She pushed it far back into the dark recess. Yes, just there. The relic should remain unmoved. For a moment pride in her good works bubbled forth, but she squelched it knowing it was sinful. Controlling her thoughts she whispered, "For your glory Lord."

Standing, genuflecting once again, she walked away eyes downcast and she knew her actions went unnoticed. Surely God had shrouded her with a protective cloud, just as he had provided her with the knowledge of these abused babies in the first place.

Leaving the sanctuary and stepping out into the courtyard, nearly blinding sunlight and vivid blue skies assailed her. Despite the warm rays she shuddered remembering the morning she'd stumbled upon the vipers' den, that group of men hiding behind a seemingly innocuous website. And her husband among them. Pedophiles. The word didn't seem bad enough to capture what they were, what they _did_...

She'd suspected he'd been having another affair. Honestly, it was a relief. This time she could leave him. According to the Church, she could leave him. But she needed to know for sure.

It was a simple enough task to crack his various passwords. He was so predictable, and really, far too assured of her docility. He had no idea what she was capable of, no idea what she had already done…

When she'd discovered that first infidelity, after the red haze of rage dissipated, she'd been able to forgive him. Maybe it was her fault too, a little bit. Maybe more than a little bit she'd reasoned.

She'd just given birth to their daughter, her body was healing. She'd continuously turned him away, pleading recovery. But their problems went back much further than that.

For years their once intimate life had been reduced to science, to clinical acts that would be discussed with their specialist and charted by a nurse. Sex was no longer spontaneous, but revolved around those magical peak days. And really, when she wasn't ovulating, what was the point?

As newlyweds they'd enjoyed early morning lovemaking, but that was soon replaced with the ritual of putting a thermometer under her tongue upon waking and carefully tracking the results.

She started to resent how easy it was for him.

Sure, he had to go through testing. Testing that took him all of five minutes; testing that consisted of a girlie magazine, a few strokes, and "Excuse me ma'am, where do I place my sample?"

They injected ink into her uterus that took days to slowly drain, the cramps more excruciating than any menstrual cycle.

She was given injections and pills after signing a waiver that she understood potential side effects included ruptured cysts on her ovaries that could lead to, oh the irony, infertility, or even her bleeding out.

And he kept saying how they were in it together, that it was their battle. But she never felt that was true; she was the one going through everything, pissing on those damn sticks and having to see the disappointment in his eyes when the response was once again "negative."

And she didn't even want a baby, not really.

Mewling, needy things. Why bother?

But he did. He wanted desperately to be a father.

So they'd pursued every avenue, invested thousands, until finally, finally they were successful.

Which is why, upon discovering his disloyalty, and while fury, pure and hot and fierce fury clouded her being, she'd placed a pillow over their infant daughter's face.

She'd held it, outwardly calm and purposeful, as the tempest inside her raged. Held it until those tiny fists uncurled and stilled.

It had been the supreme way to hurt her husband.

But it had drawn him closer instead. He sought her out throughout the following days seeking comfort.

The medical examiner labeled it SIDS, and many people assured her there was nothing that could have been done. These things happen. They were still young and could have more.

She enjoyed the attention, the sympathy. But most of all she enjoyed her husband's hurt. His devastation was a fine wine she sipped gradually.

He was brought low.

He confessed to the affair, made a thousand promises.

She graciously took him back, and she had been content. But she was living in The World then. She hadn't yet learned of God's way and His plan for her.

Slowly she had begun to regret what had happened with her daughter.

After the initial satisfaction of bringing pain to her faithless husband passed, she was left with an unexpected grief. She, who never liked babies or children, longed to hold her own again.

She'd awake, breasts heavy with milk, and physically ache for her daughter.

Seeking relief, she'd started attending Mass for the first time in over twenty years. Early childhood lessons returned, and she started studying God's word feverishly.

Abraham and Sarah's story haunted her.

They had waited so long for a child, just as she and her husband had.

But then God…oh God….she'd squandered the gift.

She was consumed with guilt, with thoughts of suicide, with a desperateness to change reality. Surely God wouldn't answer her prayers for relief, she who had committed such an unpardonable sin.

But that morning, when she discovered the horrible site her husband belonged to, when she fully understood his depravity, she knew her life had a deeper purpose.

In her mind she had felt akin to Sarah. But that was wrong.

She was Abraham. God had been testing her just as he had tested Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac.

But He hadn't intervened, no ram sent her way, because God knew what an abomination the child's father was, what unspeakable acts he would perpetrate upon the child.

Unknowingly, she had been doing God's holy works then.

And then she had started doing it purposefully with His blessing and guidance.

Walking through the basilica these years later, she smiled at another job well done. [D]


	20. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

The uncanny feeling of sliding down a hill not knowing where the ride would end, let alone if she ever would be able to get back to the top, hit Clarice full force when she stood outside the trattoria and found Hannibal standing next to her, in the flesh.

Their time together in the trattoria seemed like ages ago when in fact it had been not more than a minute. Strange how changing location could evoke such feelings. The comfortable atmosphere inside had allowed a state of mind in her that she didn't need often. She knew she could count on a turning washing machine next to her to find some comfort. Or she could run somewhere outside, preferably a park, and outdistance the stinging thoughts. Sitting a helpless table-length away from the world's most wanted man should have been a very uncomfortable situation. But Clarice had been... at ease.

Now, with this impossible and intriguing man standing beside her in open space, she felt a shift. The ease she had experienced inside transformed into an overture for an open-air opera. Cars and motorinos - Lambretta or whatever brand - and people all played their part in the makeshift orchestra. And Clarice shared the stage with Hannibal. But she was not going to play a part, she knew she was going to be herself, that would be all and that would have to be enough.

Hannibal lifted his right hand and pointed to a corner of the square that featured bright colored buildings, with a dark brown box in the apex. She accepted the invitation with a nod and gently they strolled away.

It was hard to tell if Hannibal matched her pace on purpose or that they shared a favored traveling speed, but it felt good to be able to walk her own favored speed.

"Mantua looks like a nice city," Clarice said after they had crossed the square in silence.

"It is. The Palazzo Ducale is famous."

"But not as famous as some balconies in Verona," said Clarice.

She could feel the man walking next to her savor her words.

"How true, Clarice," he said finally.

He lead her along the right side of the brown box, avoiding the small passage on its left. They turned left at the end. When they reached the next corner of the box, Clarice saw the bright yellow building next to the box housed the Mantua Questura. Her trained eyes immediately noticed the two cameras mounted on the corner of the building. They had avoided the line of view of the first camera covering the small passage and they would be walking with their backs to the second camera covering the Via Don Enrico Tazzoli.

_You think of everything, don't you?_

"What other writers have you been entertaining yourself with?" asked Hannibal after a few more steps.

"Besides Shakespeare? Not as many as you'd like me to read. And probably not always the ones you'd suggest."

Hannibal turned his head to Clarice and looked at her, while she kept staring in the distance.

"Let's forget about that for a moment, Clarice. It's not always about what _I_ want."

Clarice recalled Hannibal's help all those empty years ago, getting nothing tangible in return.

_All he got was getting to know_ _me_, she thought.

"I know that, Hannibal," she admitted. "I've read early American writers mostly. I found their original stories very compelling and also very different from the children's editions. Washington Irving, James Fenimore Cooper, Edgar Allan Poe, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Mark Twain."

"We will go to the right at the end, then left again," Hannibal said. Clarice nodded.

"No E.E. Cummings?"

"Poetry has never been my favorite. Too abstract, too undefined."

A short distance without words followed, in which Clarice wondered about the strange contrast between the buildings she encountered here. Two neighboring houses could be of a completely different style and state.

Hannibal recited.

"When thou hast taken thy last applause, and when

The final curtain strikes the world away,  
>Leaving to shadowy silence and dismay<br>That stage which shall not know thy smile again,  
>Lingering a little while I see thee then<br>Ponder the tinsel part they let thee play;  
>I see the red mouth tarnished, the face grey,<br>And smileless silent eyes of Magdalen."

"Poems are like people, Clarice. They can be playful like children, songs of innocence. They can be mature, yet straightforward and simple. Or mature and complex. I think you've met the wrong poems mostly, just like you've met a lot of wrong people in your life."

Clarice didn't answer but chewed on his words instead. They turned into the Piazza Arche.

"Literature can enhance our lives, enrich our minds," Hannibal said when they were halfway down the street.

Clarice could see the lake by now and smell its gentle fragrance.

"We'll cross the street and walk by the lakeside," Hannibal directed.

The sun cast its rays. The water surface reflected them in bright exuberance, the trees and the plants embraced them. The lake gurgled with pleasure. Birds flew and swam while cars raced down the Lungolago dei Gonzaga. Hannibal and Clarice's little opera had proceeded into the second act, marked by the change of scenery.

"What you said to me, that there are some things others will never know until we decide to share it with them, applies to everybody, Clarice," Hannibal spoke and turned his head to her. Clarice registered the movement and the need of attention to his words it implied.

She nodded. "I understand."

"With all the knowledge you have of me, everything you've ever heard about me and every little bit of information you've collected, you lack the knowledge of my youth and my ancestry. Nothing about me regarding that period has survived time, if there ever was anything to survive. Your comment truly applies to me - others will only know about my past when I decide to share it with them."

Clarice glanced at him briefly.

"I had a sister," Hannibal started.

.

The path they walked led them underneath the Via Legnano that separated the Lago Inferiore from the Lago de Mezzo. There they halted for a few moments and watched a boat or two sail. After that, Hannibal continued his monologue. It took him the greater deal of the walk along the waterline to share his lost past with Clarice. They strolled the distance leisurely while their words were solemn and grave. When he was through, Clarice felt sad.

"Hurting children is one of the worst things someone can do," she said.

Hannibal stopped and turned towards Clarice.

"Now you truly know more about me than anybody else," he said.

"I appreciate the trust you put in me," Clarice replied.

"You once asked me if I was strong enough to point that high-powered perception at myself. You know now that I am. In fact, I had done so even before you asked me. There just never has been someone to share my mind and feelings with."

Clarice could feel the tension inside her, Hannibal's words made her knees tremble and her stomach feel queasy. She suddenly remembered her first real kiss. She had felt the same then.

_Anticipation_

_Lust_

_Fear_

_Hope_ [MB]


	21. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Clarice's breath caught as his lips descended to hers and she unconsciously tilted her head upward invitingly. They were both leanly built and shared a wiry strength, but he had a few inches on her in height. One of his hands had risen and gently rested on her waist. Without her guidance, her arms followed suit and chose to settle on his shoulders.

Closer.

Closer.

But then he stopped short of contact.

A sigh of frustration escaped her, and she saw him inhale her essence, his eyes closing in pleasure. She took a steadying breath of her own and the scents of sandalwood and leather greeted her. She wouldn't mind being completely enveloped in that smell.

Her cerulean gaze held him captive when he re-opened his eyes.

"Why?"

"Clarice, I'm not the type of man to have regrets. But one of my few is the manner in which we had our first kiss. I took something that should only be freely given." There was genuine remorse in his voice, and Clarice took a moment to wonder at his unique code of honor, sorrow for this when he had so matter-of-factly discussed his crimes with her.

Now she smiled as she said, "Perhaps not freely given, but I promise you, mutually enjoyed." At that she splayed her fingers and held him tighter, her thumb just resting on the throbbing pulse at his neck. She felt his blood flow faster when she pulled his head down to hers and took his lips with her own. [D]

There weren't any fireworks exploding or earthquakes or volcanoes erupting or planes crashing down. They just kissed. Clarice knew the difference between movies and the real world and hadn't expected any of such movie gimmicks to happen, she knew a kiss was just a kiss. So she enjoyed it for what it was - an intimate moment with the man she had been longing for all these years. Clarice Starling, forty-three, knew she had found her one desire there and then. She'd never let him go again.

They released their hold of each other. Clarice looked at Hannibal and smiled. Hannibal returned her smile.

"Now that's really interesting, Clarice..." he said mischievously.

"Different reasons to keep you with me this time, Hannibal. Different bonds. Please, don't cut yourself loose this time?"

Hannibal saw the earnestness and sincerity in her sparkling eyes. He had involuntarily hoped for a lot lately but never expected those dreams to come true so soon. He nodded in reply.

She rested her head on his shoulder briefly and he could feel her inhale deeply. Requited love.

Clarice took a step back and took his right hand in hers.

"Let's walk around a bit more," she said. "We've got a killer to catch. Let's see what we can achieve together." [MB]

They continued their journey along the waterline until they reached Piazza Virgiliana, and took a left. Hannibal had brought her full circle, returning her to her vehicle parked near the third victim's home.

At any other moment Clarice Starling would have been angry at herself for losing her bearings. Only a rookie would be guilty of such carelessness, and the consequences were often steep. But her years of training and fieldwork with the Bureau, and her even earlier experiences of frolicking in dense West Virginian woods counted for naught. She'd been completely captivated by his tale, barely noticing the scenery, only vaguely aware they looped to a northwesterly path.

He'd laid his soul bare; it had taken her full attention.

And some part of her trusted his lead.

She grudgingly dropped his hand as they approached the building, her demeanor becoming professional. [D]

"So, Hannibal, what do you make of this third murder?" she asked, looking at the house where 17 months earlier death had sneaked in and took the life of four year old Luigi Gonzaga.

"A lot and nothing. None of my thoughts delivered the murderess into my hands. Maybe because I was looking for a murderer, yes," Hannibal answered. "I believe it would serve the cause better if we'd have a look at the premises together."

Clarice pondered. He dismissed his own thoughts as insignificant, while she knew only too well how penetrating his view was. Maybe taking a look was indeed the best idea, even when considering how many months had lapsed since the crime.

"We're quite sure the killer entered the house through the back. The front is too open and they kept a key hidden in a flower pot next to the back door. The killer probably knew this, though no evidence was found she actually used it," Clarice said as she stood and watched the back side of the house. "I was a bit foolish to knock on the door this morning and try to get access to the house. If I had, I'm sure Alessandro would have found out eventually and I told him I was sick."

"I knew about the key, I saw it when I was in the Shrine. She staked the place for some time then," Hannibal said. He didn't comment on her confession, the implications evident.

"She must have. And it's too crowded here for her to be noticed," Clarice spoke. "She's careful. She had time. And still does. And so far, there's no specific kind of family that should be especially afraid for Il Medico, any family could be next," Clarice softly said while lost in thoughts.

They strolled back to the front of the house. Nothing more could be done, not without risking Alessandro finding out she lied.

"Be quiet - not a word!" hissed Hannibal suddenly and pulled her forward, "and pretend you're about to faint!"

The door of the house opened and Hannibal's bearing suddenly changed into that of an old man, his legs wobbly and a slight case of kyphosis. Clarice immediately played along and held her right hand to her head.

"Honey! Are you alright?" he exclaimed and looked worried at her. "Is it your head again?"

Then he looked up, acted surprised when he saw the old woman coming from the house, and 'helped' Clarice walk towards the woman.

"Perdono!" he said to the woman with a thick American accent, "Mio donna... malato! Un po acqua? Per favore?"

Anguish distorted Hannibal's face. The woman responded exactly as he hoped, and she beckoned them into the house. She lead them to the back of the house and helped Clarice into a chair in the roomy kitchen. She quickly poured some water in a mug and offered it to Clarice. Remembering Hannibal's instructions, she only smiled faintly as she tried to take the mug from her.

"Mio donna... no parlare. Grazie per acqua."

"Dio!" the woman exclaimed and put her hand to her mouth in shock.

Clarice slowly drank the water. Meanwhile, she looked around the room. They had a few minutes to look around while Clarice 'revived'.

The killer, once inside through that back door, would have had an easy task getting upstairs; Clarice could see old servant stairs in the corner. No trouble getting somewhere unnoticed in this house.

Hannibal exchanged a few more sentences with the old woman, giving Clarice ample time to look around. When she felt she could stretch it no longer, she tapped on the table for their attention and smiled.

"Ah - you're well! Honey, I was so afraid!" Hannibal exclaimed and helped her to her feet. Clarice made clear she was fine now and bowed to the woman. The genuine smile in reply almost made Clarice feel sorry for the comedy they played with her.

"Grazie, grazie," Hannibal said and looked around. The old woman understood his wish to be going and beckoned them into the hallway.

Outside again, Hannibal thanked the woman once more, then she closed the door and walked off. Hannibal and Clarice went the other way, smiling and waving. [MB]

Though rare in the United States, Clarice was familiar with servant stairwells and had seen them upon occasion in historical homes especially along the East Coast. She intuitively felt that Il Medico had been aware of them in advance of her crime. Had the opportunity for stealth been the reason _this_ child had been chosen? Somehow Clarice didn't think so. _Desperately random._ There was reason to this madness, they just hadn't figured it out yet.

The weight of Hannibal's gaze pulled her from her musings, and she realized she'd been lost in thought for long moments. He'd graciously allowed her time to process and she gave him an appreciative smile.

Out of sight from the home, Hannibal reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips. Such gestures belonged in another century, but standing on the cobblestone street with a cathedral bell ringing somewhere in the distance, it felt just right. Just like so many other things about this man.

She knew they'd part ways now and was equally reluctant and relieved. He wouldn't disappear again, she knew, so that was an irrational and silly fear. But she still felt it. And some other part of her needed time alone to take in the many repercussions of their pact.

With a small Cheshire grin, probably from registering her conflicting emotions, Hannibal surprised her by saying, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For agreeing to work with me. For a lovely morning." She felt other words he left unsaid.

She mulled over the possibilities as she drove back to Milan, alone. [D]


	22. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Clarice was busy entering her latest findings - that had partially been Hannibal's - into the file, when she received a request for a chat from her employer.

_[JanusBifrons] I heard you were not well, apparently not too severe?_

Clarice recognized the hotline her employer evidently had with the Questura. She didn't quite care for it right now. It felt like he was invading her privacy a bit too much.

_[Starling_PI] Nausea, probably not a cold luckily. They tell you everything I do?_

_[JanusBifrons] Only if I ask. _

Starling doubted for a moment before deciding to have her way.

_[Starling_PI] I'd prefer to keep our communication restricted to the case. _

A few seconds elapsed before her employer started typing again.

_[JanusBifrons] Point taken. Excuse me._

_[Starling_PI] It's okay_

_[JanusBifrons] You know my goal. Find me the murderess. Bring her to justice._

_[Starling_PI] I will_

_[JanusBifrons] Does the hotel still suffice, or would you prefer the house now?_

_[Starling_PI] Hm. Maybe I could move, yes_

_[JanusBifrons] The offer still stands._

_[Starling_PI] I'll take it._

_[JanusBifrons] Good. I'll make sure you'll get everything you need as soon as possible._

_[Starling_PI] Thanks_

_[JanusBifrons] No problem. Get well soon. Arrivederci._

_[Starling_PI] Bye _[MB]

She still had a healthy curiosity about her employer, though she was nearly completely sure he was the father of the second victim. He was too personally vested to be anything other than a victim's family member. Three of the children had come from wealthy families. But eight year old Maria, Il Medico's second victim, came from old money. Old money that also carried impressive political pull, the kind that would allow someone to hold sway over the Questura.

Unease settled in her belly, remembering another influential citizen with a personal vendetta. The slimy eel. From somewhere inside a maternal voice softly chided,_ "Don't borrow trouble Clarice." _And it was true, the two circumstances couldn't be compared. In this instance Clarice was bound only by her own sense of honor; she didn't have to worry about appeasing the bureaucratic powers that be. Well, remembering her lies to Alessandro, she amended, didn't have to worry much. A private investigator had more leeway than a federal agent. Mr. X had vowed to follow legal channels, and she was going to hold him to it. She didn't believe in vigilantism, yet neither did she believe in the death penalty, which Hannibal would surely face upon extradition. She was no longer guided by absolutes, and it was within her ethics to demand proper protocol be followed regarding Il Medico even while she consorted with Dr. Hannibal Lecter to solve the case.

She was logging off from Messenger when her cell phone chirped, and she saw Alessandro's name on the screen. [D]

She sighed and doubted if she should answer his call or not.

_He'll probably just want to know I'm fine. He cares. Answer it, then._

She took her phone and answered.

"Hi, Alessandro."

"Hello Clarice," he said, "Feeling any better? I hope you do."

"Yes, I'm fine. I think I just needed a day off. I feel better already."

"Eccelente."

A brief silence hung comfortably between them.

"You want me to come over?" Alessandro asked. "Is there anything you need?"

"Thanks, but no. I'm fine. I think I'll order something light to eat and have a good night's sleep after that."

Alessandro sounded honest and considerate and Clarice hoped she hadn't sounded too distant.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Clarice said. "I've done some thinking today and I'd like to go through some ideas."

"Sounds interesting - sure!"

"See you tomorrow."

"Yes. Bye."

"Bye."

Clarice disconnected and threw the phone on the bed. She rose and decided she's take a shower before having the private and luxurious dinner in her room. Perhaps a nice walk around the city would follow suit.

At that moment, a knock on her door and a voice announced a delivery for Ms. Starling. [MB]

Upon opening the door Clarice was greeted by a bell boy holding an impressive bouquet of asters in a fine crystal vase. She thanked him and couldn't seem to keep the grin from her face as she set them on the table and stepped back to really look at them.

She knew they weren't from Alessandro since she'd barely gotten off the phone with him.

_Asters?_

_Hm._

They didn't seem quite his style, too rustic somehow. But they were gorgeous, somewhere between a pink and a red and resembling the wildflowers she used to pick in the springtime as a child.

Still smiling she returned to her computer and did a quick Google search.

_Asters are known as a talisman of love and a symbol of patience._

Something in her chest constricted. _Oh my._

She sat, lost in thought, for more than a few minutes. Finally getting up, even a hot shower didn't completely relax her or clear her mind. Her musings were interrupted some time later by a second knock at the door.

Glancing through the peephole she was disconcerted to see Alessandro.

Needles of annoyance prickled through her.

Her voice was curt as she opened the door and greeted him, "Alessandro, what are you doing here?"

She saw a brief flash of hurt in his eyes but couldn't bring herself to feel sorry for it.

"Well, I was already in the area. I thought maybe you were being brave and didn't want to inconvenience anybody." Said playfully and followed by that endearing smile of his, but the Clarice before him was an altered creature from the woman he'd had lunch with yesterday.

The funny thing was, if he could know what transpired today he would probably understand that better than anyone. At least as much as anyone else possibly could. Even Ardelia didn't know everything that had occurred in that kitchen ten years ago. But Clarice had confided in Alessandro; she'd told him about Hannibal's stolen kiss. And he would realize the full import of the second kiss shared today.

And she had the strangest urge to sit down and talk about it with him. Not to hurt him, she didn't want that. But though she enjoyed him as a lover, she realized she valued him as a friend the most. It was hard to open herself to others, but he'd made it past her barriers. Many of them. Sex had ranged from decent to spectacular between them, physical needs met. But their conversations would stir her soul. Alessandro Corvo was a good man, something of a kindred spirit to her. But she knew after her morning with Hannibal, even after all that remained unsaid between them, the young detective would no longer reside in her bed. [D]

Of course she could never tell him. She had confided in Alessandro, he knew about the kiss and he had shown the sense and sensibility to keep it to himself. But that was all about _then_. This was _now_. To him, Hannibal Lecter was a serial killer on the run. She was sure Alessandro wouldn't let him walk - it would be his duty to capture him or help capture him. Clarice didn't like keeping things from Alessandro, but she decided there and then a border had been reached.

So instead, Clarice smiled and stepped back, allowing him to enter and they sat down. She saw him look at the flowers, but he didn't ask.

"You're a nice man, Alessandro," she said. "And very considerate."

He smiled and took her hand.

"I wanted to be sure you were okay. You look good."

"I am okay. Not being brave, as you see. I was about to take a shower, order something and possibly have a walk after that before turning in for the night."

"You really don't need any assistance?" he said playfully and laughed. "Just a joke."

Clarice laughed too but shook her head anyway.

"Good to see you're fine," Alessandro said. "I'm off then, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sure thing." [MB]


	23. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Clarice had slept surprisingly well given the previous day's events. Her morning exercise invigorated her further, and she walked into the Questura station feeling good.

She couldn't quite stop the chuckle that emerged when Ispettore Gregoris winked at her from his post at his desk, and she stopped long enough to place a latte in front of him. He was on the phone so they didn't get to exchange their usual wiseass remarks. He would likely bring her a coffee later in the afternoon; one crack addict taking care of another.

There was really something endearing about the old buzzard.

Alessandro appeared at her side as she walked. "Hey, you never bring me special deliveries!"

"That's because you can take care of yourself. And because your taste is appalling and the gesture would be lost on you. I've been to your apartment, I know you freeze your coffee beans." Her tone implied just how serious the crime was.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, "Okay, okay. Just don't go off about the oils in the beans. Your last lecture is still ringing my head."

She laughed at his butchering of the idiom and since both of her hands were full she nudged him lightly with her elbow as they continued to The Shrine. He hadn't offered to carry anything for her; she'd broken him of such chivalry early on. She didn't care for that "let me help you little lady" shit. But she'd really liked the way Hannibal had kissed her palm yesterday. She could be his lady.

Her now somber eyes glanced towards Alessandro and she made the conscious decision that her thoughts for the next few hours would be solely focused on Il Medico and solving the case.

Hannibal's insights had, of course, proven most helpful.

Though he'd believed Il Medico was a man, just like everyone else, Hannibal had picked up on strong religious elements that all others, herself included, had overlooked.

They had all seen ritual in the crime scenes, a highly organized killer.

But Hannibal had seen sacrificial ritual and it shed new light on Il Medico's motives. [D]

"I asked the others to join us," Alessandro said.

Clarice nodded in approval and put the file on the table. As they waited, neither spoke. They spent so much time together these last two months, both at work and elsewhere, that they were fine with just being in the same room without the urge to break the silence with idle talking.

Alessandro leafed through the pages in his writing pad while Clarice softly tapped her fingers on the table in a Brubeck inspired 7/4 rhythm. She knew he didn't mind.

Chiara Saronno was the first to enter the room, her eyes always flying here and there, as if trying to catch a glimpse of the pattern of the murderer. She gave a quick nod to Clarice while she took a seat at the table. Alessandro looked up and they exchanged a look, Chiara trying to find out what was up, Alessandro only to greet her.

Clarice stopped her tapping, knowing Chiara wasn't too fond of it.

Then Gregoris and Paolo entered the room, Paolo as usual lagging behind. Alessandro pointed at the door to tell him he should close it. Paolo strolled back in his own pace, closed the door and strolled to his seat again.

The team was now complete. Clarice took a deep breath and commenced.

"Yesterday was a different day for me, with time and opportunity to do some off-road or out-of-the-box thinking. I'm sure you understand what I mean."

A few grins and one short frown, but after a moment Clarice could see they all understood.

"I've come up with a few usable ideas that I'd like to work through with you, let's see where it'll lead us."

She could see Tacito straightening his back, she had his attention. Chiara was always ready to go; with Paolo you never knew but had to assume he was set.

"We're looking for a woman. Not too tall, about 5', and not too strong. She poisons the victims first, then butchers them but doesn't take any trophies but a hank of hair. All that's familiar."

No response, but she had everyone's focus.

"Now, what if this butchering is not merely a ritual she performs, but a _sacrificial_ ritual? What if it's part of some religious act? It's not part of their deaths, it's postmortem. It's a clean act, no mess, no dragging of bodies or body parts. And when done, the children are tucked in, as if soundly asleep. _Resting_. A peaceful state."

She waited while her words hit their marks. The first response she got was from Gregoris.

"That sounds possible. A religious sacrifice."

"Yes. Like Abraham sacrificing his own son. He didn't want to do it, but he was ordered to."

"You think our murderer might be hearing voices? Telling her to go and kill a child?" Paolo asked.

"Possible. But let's keep it at the religious aspect, okay? She doesn't kill because she wants to kill the children, or hurt them. She performs a sacrifice. It's an offering."

They all processed the idea. Clarice waited while they did.

"So," she continued after some time, "this isn't about the child. A sacrifice is a substitute in the Bible. The people of Israel gained redemption for their sins by the deaths of the animals they sacrificed. Perhaps the killer is trying to find redemption?"

Clarice could see several nods in agreement. Paolo, though normally not the first - nor the second - to react, now offered his share to the meeting.

"Maybe we should talk to someone from the church if we're going to follow this religious lead. I don't know about you, but I am Catholic and go to church but I don't think I can be of much assistance here. We need someone with the proper education and experience - a priest or perhaps even a bishop."

"Chiara," Alessandro said, "arrange a meeting for you, me and Clarice, sometime today. Paolo, do some research anyway on your own. Clarice, anything else?"

"Yes - the hank of hair. Maybe that's related to this. The hairs weren't found at the crime scene, so Il Medico took them. Maybe not as a trophy but as part of the ritual?"

"That's possible. I don't know what she would do with the hair, but we'll see. Paolo, research that, too."

"And that's it for now. Not a whole bunch of ideas," Clarice apologized, "but something new at least. A fresh view on the case."

"It's good stuff, Clarice," Paolo replied, "And it definitely beats our current well-trodden paths..."

Alessandro ignored that remark. "Okay, that's it. Grigoris, Paolo, you review our current material with these new ideas in mind. Maybe you find something."

Grigoris, Paolo and Chiara rose and left the room. [MB]

Chiara, as usual, quickly secured them an afternoon appointment at a nearby cathedral along with an interview with a clergyman.

Alessandro and Chiara took a Questura vehicle; Clarice chose to take her Lancia. Nobody questioned the arrangement because on multiple occasions Alessandro had received calls for other crimes and he'd had to answer them with Clarice in tow. Her days of saving the world were over; her sole focus was this case. She'd rather not waste her time tracking down a pickpocket or petty thief. Let some other ignoble idiot put them in jail, merrily clearing the territory for three more to take his - or her - place.

Sometimes she envied both Chiara and Alessandro. They were so sure about their purpose and approached every case with zeal and a clear certainty that they were making a difference, that they were helping.

On other occasions their puppy-like exuberance was wearisome at best, and flat-out annoying as hell at worst.

It was hard to remember ever being that young.

Clarice parallel parked the tan Lancia and crossed the street to join the inspectors.

They entered the nearly deserted cathedral and Clarice watched Alessandro dip his hand into the holy water and make the sign of the cross. Huh. She hadn't known.

She wondered if he went to confession regularly, and a grin split her face. If so, she'd filled a starring role in the tawdry tales. _Be good Clarice, or God will send a lightning bolt to smite your cougar ass and the next thing you know Dr. Lecter will have another church collapse a__rticle, but with your name among the dead._ It seemed she was channeling Ardelia since Hannibal was once again a true presence in her life. She missed that snarky broad.

A man, clearly a priest, approached them. His position was broadcasted by a black starchy clerical shirt and white tab collar. He was also one of the oldest men Clarice had ever seen. Did the Church not have a retirement plan?

He greeted the trio in Italian, and after a quick exchange with Alessandro and Chiara, switched to English for her benefit.

"Good afternoon. Though I'm glad you could make it to visit the Lord's house, I'm afraid I don't have any information to provide you- just like I mentioned on the phone." The last bit was said with a significant look at Chiara, stated in a helpful tone but there was a gentle chide there somewhere. It was not a glance strangers would share.

Hm. First Alessandro a closet Catholic and now Chiara on familiar terms with a priest? Perhaps this was the norm here, less of a division of church and state.

"Poppi, we don't have time for games. We have a lead in a case, an important case. We need to solve it before anyone else gets hurt." Clarice was appalled at the young inspector's discourteous, brisk tone. She had to intercede.

"Father, my name is Clarice Starling and I'm a consultant for the Questura." She shot him a polite smile and continued, "We appreciate you taking the time to speak with us. We just need you to answer a few questions. It's possible you know something without even realizing it. Happens all the time on cases."

The well lined face showed pleasure that he could somehow contribute, and after leading them to a small office, he gave careful consideration to their myriad of questions.

Bottom-line, as far as he and the custodial crew knew, nobody was leaving unusual items anywhere.

Clarice refused to feel disappointment. Hannibal's hunch was good. There were plenty more cathedrals throughout Milan. They needed to come up with a plan to canvas them all, and she realized it would be like the proverbial needle in a haystack. Five victims- many churches.

They'd make it work.

If anything was there, some sacrificial offering, they'd find it.

They emerged thirty minutes later, no closer to Il Medico. No. That wasn't right. This would be one less cathedral to search. A small step, but something.

Sunlight was bright in their faces, and she held one hand up as a shade so she could look at Chiara.

"So how does that work, a priest that's a grandfather?"

Chiara seemed reluctant, but answered. "He joined the clergy after my grandmother died. Said he knew he'd never remarry."

Clarice gave a noncommittal "Hm" but she knew there was quite the story there. She and Chiara were far from gal pals; Clarice really wasn't the gal pal type. Every once in a while she regretted her lack of tolerance for catty gossip over pedicures. It was no accident that she'd gone into not one but two male-dominated fields. And with the exception of 'Delia, her confidants had always been men. She just knew Hannibal had something to say about that.

Alessandro was quiet and gave her a distracted wave as he and Chiara departed.

That was fine by Clarice.

Her mind was on other things as well. [D]


	24. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Hannibal silently unlocked the door to Ispettore Alessandro Corvo's apartment and slipped in unnoticed by any of the neighbors. Italian locks were vey easy to pick, he mused while he breathed in the air of the place where his antagonist lived. No pets. Expensive cologne that matched his over average taste in clothing. Risotto. The distinct smell of a full green waste home recycle bin. Olive oil.

Knowing the man wouldn't be home for a while and the part-time maid due tomorrow, he allowed himself time to wander around and have a look.

In the living room he saw a well sized, over filled bookcase. Strolling over, Hannibal took a look at the collection Alessandro had gathered in the short span of years he measured. As could be expected, a funny collection of books from when he had been a kid; the largest part of the tomes from his educational years; a modest number of serious literature, mostly contemporary, and a handful of volumes that were useful for his work. That last batch contained Bloom's book, he immediately noticed. Meaning the man could become a serious risk should they ever meet.

The kitchen was as could be expected of a single Italian man of standing: well equipped and effective. Hannibal actually gave Alessandro credit for it.

The bedroom on the contrary, was absolutely not to Hannibal's taste. A small sized bed with a good view on a large flat screen TV. Plain white walls and pine furniture. The closet where his clothes were stored featured a nice surprise: two shoe boxes with items from Alessandro's past that he deemed worthy to keep. In it, Hannibal found a few jiu-jitsu medals, a few typical works of art from when he was a child, old glasses, a few hilarious love letters from girls, the latest from four years ago.

Inspecting the bathroom, Hannibal found nothing conspicuous either. Solution for contacts, electric toothbrush, an authentic straight razor and strop. With genuine delight Hannibal inspected the sharp knife and found Alessandro used it every day.

A bit of a disappointment this search proved to be, but Hannibal knew nevertheless all he needed to know about Alessandro. He saw how a slight change in his home would upset this Barney Rubble, as long as it would seem accidental. That would suffice for the moment.

While Hannibal enjoyed the privacy of Alessandro's home, Clarice drove back to her hotel room, thinking about the house her employer had offered. Now that she'd accepted the offer, she wished she could move as soon as possible. She needed a place of her own.

At the hotel, she was greeted courteously as ever. The man behind the desk, Alfredo, asked her to wait a second. He turned to a special cabinet behind him and retrieved a large envelope from it. He handed it over with a slight bow. Clarice, recognizing the seal, immediately knew what she'd find inside. Absentminded, she muttered a thanks to Alfredo and walked over to the elevator. [MB]

Walking into her suite she felt the weight of the last couple of days settle heavy over her. Hannibal had given her space. Initially, she'd appreciated that.

Now she was….restless.

Glancing at the still lovely bouquet on her table, she smiled and said aloud, "Why don't you make a house call, Doctor?"

Silliness of course. It would be much too risky for him to come here.

But not if she stayed somewhere more isolated, away from the prying eyes of the public.

Flutters of nerves, the good kind, settled in her belly as she anticipated their first private meeting in more than a decade. Just him and her. No strangers about to act as the final barrier…

Settling herself on the settee and then kicking off her shoes, Clarice tucked her socked feet beneath her and held the letter in her hands.

She took in the now familiar insignia. The first time she'd received a letter with this brand, part of her had been hoping it was from Hannibal. It was his style, and though she'd already logically concluded her benefactor must be connected to one of the victims, there had been an involuntary sliver of delicious anticipation.

And disappointment when she knew with certainty it wasn't from him.

Yet, she'd felt they weren't done with each other in this life. But she still marveled at the serendipity that would merge her path with his, working the same case an ocean away from her home.

It was as close as Clarice Starling could allow herself to get to faith.

She gently cracked the wax seal. Her employer was an enigma of a man; he was just as apt to IM her as send an old-fashioned correspondence. Though, he seemed to save these Old Worldly parchments for his more important messages. It spoke of a person still not completely comfortable with modern technologies.

An interesting trait in a man she knew was only a few years older than herself.

Again, 12 point font, Times New Roman. Staid. Traditional. Boring. Completely unworthy of the quality parchment and intriguing seal.

Dear Ms. Starling,

As requested, arrangements have been made for your new accommodations. I have secured you a home in the province of Pavia, in the village of Carpignago. I took the liberty of having the quarters remodeled so they should be acceptable for your purposes. Please inform me immediately if the estate needs further updating or modifications.

Catch this monster, Ms. Starling. You have my full resources at your disposal.

Regards,

J

Enclosed behind the succinct letter were printed driving directions and a small key. She could see from the map the village was near the town of Acqui Terme, the site of Il Medico's fifth murder.

Various thoughts simultaneously worked their way through Clarice's brain.

Estate?

She'd yet to visit Acqui Terme, was this her employer's not so gentle nudging?

Partly she balked at his high-handedness in taking the entire process out of her hands and simply telling her where she would reside.

And the implication that she wasn't doing her job pissed her off. But maybe she was reading too much into it. _Cool it Clarice_. After all, she was the hired help.

It's business, not personal.

And J? From his IM account?

Her mental flurry was interrupted by her cell phone ringing; distracted and annoyed, she answered it. [D]

"Yeah?" she blared.

The silence on the other end of the line was as irritating as someone calling you from somewhere with a lot of background noise.

When it remained silent, Clarice realised it was she who had been less courteous, not to say rude. And she knew who was calling.

"Now that you've calmed down," his voice said soothingly, "I'd like to know how your day was."

"Hello, Hannibal," she started in a much calmer and appreciative tone. "Ups and downs. The visit to the church today was as unsuccessful as most of the visits we've been doing for the last months. The letter I just received was a mixture of pleasant and unpleasant matters."

She doubted if she should elaborate.

"If it didn't bother you, you wouldn't have mentioned it, Clarice," he said as if he could read her mind.

She could hear Crawford warning her.

_You don't want any of your personal facts in his head._

Dear old Jack. Last time they'd met was a few years ago. A retired and tired man. Bella and the bureau had kept him going all those years, no matter how hard they'd been – or perhaps just because they'd been hard… And without either, life had stopped having sense for him, only death hadn't collected him yet.

_Jack, if only you knew… Having Hannibal in your head is _not_ the worst thing that can happen to you. It might even turn out to be the best._

"My employer wrote it. He likes to keep strict control, that's what sometimes gets on my nerves. Good part is that I'm getting new accommodations. A home in the country, not too far from here. This hotel room's getting too small."

"I can imagine your unease," Hannibal answered.

"Really?"

"You've always disliked people organizing your life for you or using you. I don't think I have to give you names, am I right?"

The names flashed through her brain.

_Frederick Chilton. Mason Verger. Paul Krendler. Jack Crawford – though she added that last name with some reluctance._

There was no need for a vocal acknowledgement. Clarice only took a deep breath to push the memories aside and clear her mind before she continued.

"I'll be moving the day after tomorrow. We're going to visit some more churches tomorrow."

"Would you like some assistance Saturday?"

The thought of Hannibal helping her, carrying her belongings through the hotel to her car, was both amusing and tempting.

"Kind of you to ask, but I'll manage. It's just my suitcases and the files."

With an afterthought she added something.

"You're clever enough to find it out yourself, but I'll save you the trouble and give you the new address right away," and she read the address from the letter to him.

"Thank you, Clarice."

"You're welcome," she replied with glee evident in her voice.

"And thank you for the lovely flowers. They're… appropriate."

She could hear him smile. [MB]

It gave her the courage to plunge in, "Hannibal, when will I see you again?"

Twenty years ago she might have cringed at the neediness of the question. But it took strength to ask it, exposing her emotional jugular.

As he'd so aptly pointed out, she didn't like others controlling her life. No more games or mental peek-a-boo, wondering if he was just around the next corner.

It was time to be up front with each other. She'd demonstrated trust giving him her address and she wanted it reciprocated.

"Clarice, I'm at your disposal." No mocking in his tone, but a surprising earnestness.

She responded immediately. "Saturday night, 8:00. My new address. I'll cook for you."

"My dear, after a full day of moving, shouldn't I prepare you a meal?"

"Nah, I want to show off." She savored his soft chuckle.

"Saturday night it is. Good night, Clarice."

"Good night Hannibal."

She carried the warmth of his husky baritone with her throughout the remainder of the evening, and slept soundly recalling no dreams when she awoke. [D]


	25. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Alessandro stole a third glance at Clarice through the rearview mirror of the official Questura vehicle. She'd relinquished the front passenger seat to Chiara and was staring through the side window distractedly.

Something was up with her. Big-time.

Always a morning person, much to his consternation, today she was beyond that. She was…well…chipper. Completely inattentive and chipper.

Was she _whistling_ under her breath?

His own mood was decidedly sour.

He'd stopped by her place early this morning, hoping they could enjoy a mutually pleasurable start to the day…only to find her already showered, dressed, and ready to go.

She'd greeted him politely at the door, but hadn't invited him in. She'd stepped out in the hall to join him, ready to go to work. Hoping to change her mind he stepped into her space, gently backing her up to the door and placing his hands around either side of her waist. Firmly and resolutely she gripped his arms and pushed him away.

With no words between them, they'd held eye contact for several charged moments. He felt the shift between them and knew things had changed.

She took the lead, "Let's talk later. This afternoon, after work." He could read between the lines that she didn't want to disturb their workday.

Battling a hurt that was unexpectedly deep, he'd curtly replied, "Bene." [D]

After their first visit to a church, they'd decided to refrain from making appointments. After picking up Chiara, who had loudly protested against the unexpected early hour, they drove to Chiesa Santa Maria del Carmine. Clarice self-absorbed, Chiara chirping and Alessandro gloomy.

Clarice was developing a liking for the Italian city she had been invited to. Getting out of the car after Alessandro had parked on Via Ponte Vetero, she enjoyed the summer sun in her face while looking at the red church for a moment.

"Let's go," Alessandro called.

.

A disappointing visit it turned out to be. Two down. Many to go. It didn't add to Alessandro's state of mind.

"You want me to drive?" Chiara volunteered.

"No, I'm fine," Alessandro answered. Clarice noticed his words didn't match his eyes, and she knew the cause, but he'd have to wait until later.

"Chiesa di San Babila is on Corso Monforte, 1," Chiara said and started to type the address in the GPS.

"Don't. I know where it is," Alessandro spoke.

Chiara shot him a silent, accusatory glance. He ignored her and drove off, other drivers honking at his otherwise immaculate driving. Minutes passed in complete silence. Clarice's cheerfulness slowly faded, but not completely. There was a resilient core that just wouldn't give in.

.

Three down and still many to go. Clarice realized that if they were to survive the day, something needed to be done.

"You know the next church?" Chiara asked.

"Which one is next?" Alessandro returned.

Clarice heard their words and tried to come up with an idea. Fortunately, one came soon enough.

"Alessandro?"

"Hm?"

"The cathedral we visited was closest to where the first murder took place, right?"

"Yes?"

"We found nothing so now we're paying random visits to churches throughout the city. But the killer is not random. She has a system. She goes, kills, exits. If she visits a church, it could be one conveniently along her route."

"Excuse me?"

"So, we should keep visiting the churches _near_ the crime scenes first. If we find things, it might indicate the direction the killer took."

"Yes! Clarice! That's a good idea – let me see!" Chiara chimed in.

Alessandro thought it was a good idea also. He even added an idea of his own.

"Perhaps, if we add the directions from the various crime scenes to each other, we might be able to get an idea where the killer always went to, probably also came from."

"Got it!" Chiara cheered, "Let's go to Parrocchia Sant'Apollinare in Baggio first then. That would be the best candidate."

"Và a Bagg a sonà l'ôrghen," Alessandro added with a wry grin, then translated for Clarice's sake: "Go play the organ in Baggio. It means _get lost_ or _go to hell_".

"We'll see about that," she replied with a smile. Alessandro looked at her for a moment, then smiled back.

"Chiara, what's the address?" Alessandro asked.

"Just pass me the GPS, okay? You drive."

"Sure," said Alessandro and started the engine.

. [MB]

Sant'Apollinare was an impressive building, a tall redbrick structure. Clarice had the impression that cathedrals should be gothic, ornate. The clean architectural lines of this one were strangely soothing. And its clock tower was nothing short of impressive.

Noting her gaze, Alessandro said, "The largest in Europe." Stated matter-of-factly, even just days ago his words would have held the playful tone of a double entendre. A twinge of something, perhaps guilt, pricked Clarice. She owed him the decency of an honest conversation. Soon.

Her thoughts this morning had been consumed by Hannibal. Mentally assembling a menu for Saturday's dinner. Not daring to think too far beyond…

In her years since she left the Bureau she'd taken an active interest in culinary arts. For reasons she chose not to examine too deeply.

Baking frustrated her, it was too formulaic, and she'd reached a point in life where any sort of forced structure was stifling. Half a cup of flour meant half a cup of flour.

But cooking, cooking allowed her freedom, an opportunity to revel in artistic whimsy.

A basic marinara sauce, with its simple but delicious garlic, olive oil and tomatoes, was a lovely blank canvas and for the most part quite forgiving. Through a series of experiments she'd discovered her favorite "gravy" as Tony Soprano called it, was a mixture of finely minced garlic, stewed tomatoes, extra-virgin olive oil, dry mustard, fresh basil, and chicken stock. She also liked to drop in a pound of clams and let them steam open.

It was a delightful surprise coming here to Italy and learning that to them _mar_ina implied some sort of seafood must be in the sauce.

As she had each time before, she mentally changed channels back to the case as they walked into the cathedral.

Like the other stops, there were a few scattered parishioners, but the sanctuary was largely empty. It was very striking to Clarice that though Italy was filled with churches, the churches seemed to rarely be filled. Tourists snapping pictures didn't count.

Chiara went in search of a church official, disappearing behind a column down some sort of corridor.

Without speaking, Alessandro and Clarice separated, spreading out and walking the space. Clarice made it up to the altar, raised from ground level by three stone steps, and thought about its significance to the killer.

If she was leaving offerings at churches, she was motivated by faith.

By the need for redemption?

Redemption for whom though?

Scrunching to her knees, Clarice took in the immaculate surfaces, no dust. Perhaps attendance was low, but those that cared showed their devotion deeply.

Knowing it was taboo to casually walk around to the backside, she thought, _well, you wouldn't have been able to either, not without drawing attention._

Stretching and reaching one hand behind the ornate altar, she felt a gap of several inches between wood and granite floor. Wedging her hand into the slit, it was perhaps the first time in Clarice Starling's life she smiled at discovering grime.

The layer of dust was thick, which meant this tiny piece of holy real estate went undisturbed. Swiping her hand back and forth, jamming it in as far she could reach, her smile stretched wider as the very tip of her middle finger connected with cool glass. [D]


	26. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Unable to retrieve the container this way, Clarice pulled back her arm and rose. Impatiently, but knowing she would have to play by the rules, she waited for Alessandro or Chiara to appear. The container wouldn't be going anywhere, yet Clarice did not want to leave it unattended. Standing next to the altar, she waited.

Clarice couldn't see either of her colleagues from where she stood. She moved a bit to and fro, but never more than a few feet away from the altar. Suddenly something in her peripheral vision caught her attention – _someone watching her_.

_Turn around to see or pretend not to notice? Let go or go after?_

It wasn't Hannibal – she would not have spotted him.

A slight movement in the figure. He or she wasn't rising, that was good. Quickly, Clarice turned her head and took a peek.

A transient, a homeless man. He was having a look around now; perhaps to make sure nobody was approaching to chase him away. Clarice could almost feel his shyness. She lowered her head but kept her body in his direction. Watching him from her peripheral vision again, she saw he registered she had seen him. He didn't rise to leave. That was a good sign. Slowly, she raised her head again and tried to look as passive as possible. Their eyes met. A few moments of quiet consideration before the man looked away shortly. When he looked at her again, she took one step forward and looked at him expectantly. It took him some time to nod his agreement. Slowly, Clarice approached him, in spite of her initial drive to remain at the altar.

Clarice took a seat in the pew on the other side of the small aisle and faced the homeless man. His clothes were shabby, but she couldn't smell him from where she sat. A weather-worn face, the man looking much older than he probably was. Reminded her of the farmers from her youth.

"Non siete la prima persona interessata all'altare," the man said, looking not at her but at the altar.

"Mi dispiace che non parlo italiano," Clarice answered. This sentence was about the only full sentence she'd learned so far. She hadn't really tried to learn some Italian yet – this told her maybe it was time to start.

The vagabond didn't respond or react. Clarice almost wondered if he'd heard at all. Maybe he was deaf and too… absentminded to look at her. She heard footsteps next to her, a sideway glance told her it was Alessandro. Before he could speak, she subtly raised her hand, indicating to him to keep quiet. They waited.

"Era l'unica persona qui di fede. Gradico il silenzio qui," he spoke unexpectedly, still not looking at them. He turned his head then, but not to look at them. He stared at the ceiling. Clarice looked at Alessandro, who motioned her to stay put – _it's okay_, he mouthed.

"Ha pregato a lungo prima che andasse all'altare. Ho sete. E` andato giu` sulle sue ginocchia anche," he continued, and rose slowly. Looking at the altar, he approached it. His eyes remained fixed on the center of worship. Clarice rose after him, Alessandro didn't know what to do and looked at Clarice questioningly.

"As long as he doesn't _do_ anything…" she said softly as she passed Alessandro to follow the fellow.

"E lei continuato a prostrare davanti all'altare," he said and indicated a spot. It had been exactly where Clarice had been a few moments ago.

He suddenly turned around and started to walk away. Alessandro looked at Clarice, not knowing what to do. Clarice quickly decided the man was too unhinged to be of use, apart from what he had already told them, and he looked like a regular visitor. If needed, they could always try to find him here again. She shook her head to Alessandro. The homeless man walked away, softly muttering while he walked.

"I think I got the gist of what he was saying," Clarice told Alessandro, "come!"

She pulled him along, not wanting to wait anymore.

"Did you hear he was talking about a woman?" he asked.

"No. He did? That's great!" she replied as they walked. "You got a pen with you?"

He frowned momentarily, but handed her a fashionable fountain pen. Carefully, Clarice held it at the end and kneeled at the altar again. She inserted the pen in the crevice and used it to work the container from the narrow opening. An intact vial, filled with what looked like blood, appeared. Clarice took a handkerchief from her bag and picked up the vial with it, careful not to smear any possible fingerprints. Her face beamed with excitement. [MB]

Clarice and Alessandro stared at the vial in silence for several heady moments.

Finally, after months of crime scene investigations, interviews and psychological analysis, months of spinning their wheels, here was a solid crack in the case.

A thrill shot through Clarice. It was entirely possible something in or on this vial would lead them directly to Il Medico. The killer had been meticulous at crime scenes, even with her first victim, and left no forensic clues. But this glass container was something else entirely. Sometimes serial killers would leave deliberate, taunting clues for the police. Tactics to feed their immense egos and demonstrate their perceived superior intelligence. But that didn't fit Il Medico's MO. Clarice's instincts told her Il Medico hadn't meant for this to be found by officials, and likely not by anyone else either.

Hannibal had spoken of ritual, citing Abraham's willingness to offer up his son to God.

Il Medico was making a sacrifice of these children, placing containers of their blood underneath cathedral altars. Like relics.

Holy objects for the faithful to draw power from.

Lifting her gaze to Alessandro's, Clarice stated, "She kills them because of her faith. She leaves their blood, their essence, for others to pray over." Her mind going to images of the gutted little bodies, peaceful faces amid overwhelming gore, Clarice's voice caught as she continued, "She thinks she is doing good."

Alessandro nodded and added, "She's memorializing them. Our relics come from martyrs, from those who gave everything for God. We honor them, because we need to remember to be like them. If Il Medico is treating these children like martyrs, she is holding them in the highest esteem." Filing his use of "we" away for later reflection, Clarice opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by Chiara's surprised exclamation from several yards away.

The noise echoed throughout the sanctuary and Clarice visibly cringed. Chiara missed it as her attention was focused on the vial.

"Finally! Something!"

An older man, a church official, trailed behind her. Quick introductions were made, Chiara had already discussed the purpose behind their visit.

Clarice spoke, a statement but uttered with apologetic tones toward the man, "We need to seal this place up as a crime scene. There could be more evidence." Protocol would be followed, of course, though Clarice felt it would likely be a waste of time and resources. She already held the only thing the killer left behind; her gut told her so. Unfortunately for police officials and federal agents, they were not allowed to operate fully on instincts. Procedures people! Lucky for Clarice she was no longer bound by such restrictions.

Questura would require the vial to be hauled to their labs by one of their own people. Placing the vial in an evidence bag, she passed it to Chiara knowing Alessandro would want to stay here and wrap up loose ends.

He was already on the phone speaking rapid Italian, and Clarice nodded at him as she and Chiara walked passed him to deliver the bag to the Questura lab.

He reached out one hand, clasping Clarice's shoulder for a moment, "I'll come by your place later today. We can talk…about everything." Chiara perked up at the exchange, sensing drama. It annoyed Clarice that he'd even thinly hint at their relationship in front of a colleague.

Giving him a curt nod and shrugging out of his touch, she replied, "Fine," and quickly departed the building, Chiara following behind.

Back at the station, the evidence was taken to the lab for analysis and Clarice spent the next several hours online engrossed in research on martyrs and relics.

Still no word on the vial, exhausted, eyes tired and strained, she stood and stretched aching muscles. Alessandro still hadn't reported back and it was getting late in the day.

Knowing an emotionally taxing conversation was ahead of her, she decided to call it a day.

Clarice saw Alessandro entering her hotel lobby just ahead of her. Her first thought was he'd been waiting for her, but upon closer inspection he had the unaffected disposition of a person completely unaware of being observed. Just a coincidence. Good, she was ready to get this over with. Calling out to him, he paused when he saw her and they rode the elevator up together, maintaining silence until they had true privacy.

Once in her suite, Clarice kicked off her shoes and headed straight to the bar. Pouring two healthy shots of vodka, she carried the glasses to the settee where Alessandro sat stiffly, waiting.

Handing him the glass and then clinking hers to his, she stated with some irony "Cheers," and tossed hers back.

He followed suit. And then sputtered and coughed, a few tears escaping and running down his cheeks.

Clarice couldn't help it, she giggled. It was a strange sensation, laughing while her own throat still burned from the alcohol, and it set her into a coughing fit as well.

Finally recovering, the two sat staring at each other, small smiles on their faces.

Alessandro stated, "You're breaking up with me."

Shaking her head, she responded, "God, you make us sound like teenagers."

Annoyance flickering across his features, he stated, "You know what I mean."

"I do, but you need to understand what I'm saying as well. We're adults. We enjoyed each other's company, we had a nice time together. There were no promises, no commitment."

"Maybe not spoken out loud. But you welcomed me into your bed. _You_ pursued _me_."

What he said was true, and she knew that before Hannibal's reappearance, she'd found herself opening to Alessandro in ways she hadn't with other men. Several nights after lovemaking, they'd fallen into intimate conversations that had lasted for hours. That had never been her style, but something about Alessandro had brought it out in her.

She had softened toward him and he would have been receptive to those signals.

Knowing she couldn't deny his accusation, that her actions very likely had implied some type of commitment, she could only look at him and be as honest as she could be.

"Alessandro, you're the very best kind of guy. But you're not gonna be my guy. I didn't think this was going to happen, really. Deeper feelings getting involved. I just thought we'd have a nice time."

She watched his nostrils flare and he blinked twice.

"Bene. You don't need to worry. There's no deeper feelings," then a pause, "we had a good time."

Knowing there was more to say between them, but at a loss, Clarice just nodded. Without thought, she reached out to him to give him a reassuring squeeze, but he rapidly shot to his feet.

"I need to be going. There's a report I need to file. Oh, you'll want to know. The lab has some results already. The blood in the vial was human, type O negative. That's all they know so far. We can't even be sure it's from Il Medico or any of her victims."

Departing rapidly, Clarice fought the urge to detain him and discuss the case further. He needed time, and she wanted to salvage some sort of relationship with him. For the case, for work, but also because she genuinely cared about him.

As she was at least an occasional insomniac, she kept files for the case on hand. They gave something for her tired mind to puzzle over, and she found sometimes she could return to sleep and then wake up with new lines of thinking.

She had many of these details memorized, but she needed to confirm.

Yes. There. The fifth victim, an infant girl, was the only one of the children to have type O negative blood.

And she hadn't been from Milan.

Completely lost in thought, personal strife forgotten, the ringing of her cell phone caused her to visibly startle.

Seeing the unknown number, she already knew it was Hannibal before his warm voice greeted her, though she still shivered at its timbre.

"What does it mean that she kills her victims in one town and then leaves relics from them in another? She's not trying to throw us off of any scent, she didn't think we'd ever find them."

"Many options come to mind. What evidence led you to this?"

"We found a vial of blood today, at one of the cathedrals in Milan, pushed deep under an altar. I know it's from her. I just know. And the blood type matches one of the victims, from Acqui Terme."

"This needs further thought and discussion, Clarice. But my call was actually of a more personal nature. I do love surprises, and I'm not asking you to spoil it, but I would like to be a polite dinner guest and bring an appropriate wine. Could you point me in the right direction?"

"Hannibal, that is a completely lovely sentiment. But I've already selected a wind and planned the meal around it. Bring yourself, that's all I need."

Quiet from him, and she found herself wondering at his facial expression in that moment. Though he'd dwelt within her for so long, in many ways he was still a stranger.

His thoughts seemed to be following the same path. "As I said, I do love surprises. All right, Clarice, I shall attempt to be gracious and follow my hostess' instructions."

Hearing departure in his tone, she stated, "Good night Hannibal."

"Good night Clarice." [D]

**Authors' Note~ We need to send a very big shout out of thanks to Loving Hannibal for so kindly providing us with the Italian phrases in this chapter. You're simply marvelous! And as always, thanks to you all for reading and reviewing :o) **


	27. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Clarice cursed herself for underestimating the effort her move would take. Packing her personal belongings wouldn't take her more than when coming to Italy, she'd guessed. She was right there; her suitcases were quickly done. But packing everything else – the case files mostly – proved to be more troublesome and time consuming than anticipated. Clarice never was one to rely on digital filing only. She'd grown up with only a few possessions and valued tangible objects. She used digital zeros and ones, but didn't rely on them. Keeping concrete objects in sight also helped finding a visual link between seemingly random facts in a case. She had kept every little piece of information she'd gathered these last months on paper also and had not noticed that slowly, but surely, it all summed up to an astonishing mountain.

Clarice had to pack it all herself. Confidentiality didn't allow her to hire somebody, pride kept her from asking Alessandro, Chiara or anyone else from the Questura. She started packing right after her workout - her breakfast no more than a thermos of coffee. While packing, she could not avoid thinking about the case while all the paperwork and such went through her hands. Often, she found herself lost in thoughts and had to force herself from them. It took her until noon or so to finish.

She called the customer service desk and asked if Alfredo was in. He was, and she asked for his assistance. The man arrived not much later and he was as cooperative as always. Secretly, Clarice suspected Mr. X paid him, and perhaps the other staff as well, to help her out more than his and their jobs required, but she never asked.

Instead of carrying the boxes one by one as Clarice had anticipated, he fetched a cart and loaded as many on it as possible. Then he simply pulled the cart to the service elevator and took it to the garage, where they loaded the boxes in her car. Two trips sufficed to have her car stacked full with the boxes and her personal belongings. She turned in the key to the room and after all formalities, she was surprised with a gift. The friendly girl behind the desk handed her a large box. Clarice noticed it was heavy.

"We'd like to express our appreciation for your stay here with this box," the girl said. "Authentic Milanese specialties and some other Italian foods and beverages. Thank you for choosing the Melia Milano."

Clarice was touched by the kind gesture and thanked the girl for it.

In her car, Clarice quickly took a peek in the box. As she scanned the items in it, the thought suddenly struck her she could use it perfectly for this evening. They were of excellent quality and would make a good meal. And she could compensate her move taking more time than anticipated with less groceries to worry over, since the box contained much of what she needed.

Her mind settled, she started the engine and drove off. Her first stop was not much later, though – a quick visit to a McDonalds for some lunch, which she ate while driving.

After that, on an impulse, she took her cell phone and called. It rang some time before the call was answered.

"Djeez, C.," the sleepy voice said, "Forgot the time difference or did you catch the killer?"

"Hi Dee," Clarice answered and chastised herself mentally at the same time. [MB]

"Girl, you know I love ya, but this better be good. I jus' went to bed…" Clarice could visualize Ardelia squinting at her clock, "an hour ago!" All these years later, Ardelia still followed the strict code of work hard and play harder.

"Fudge nuts Dee, I totally spaced the time thing again." Ardelia had made the same mistake herself more than once over the last few months. But having been roomies enough years, Clarice knew what interrupted sleep meant for Dee. Clarice could function as long as she had four hours, maybe not happily, but it was doable. Dee needed a solid eight hours or she was a limp washcloth, a snarling limp washcloth.

Before she could apologize, Dee continued, "So what's up with your chipper self?"

Clarice felt her lips split in a wide grin and said, "Yeah, guess I am chipper."

"That's lovely and all, but unless you're finally willing to dish about your hot, Italian boy toy, or you really did catch the killer, I'm fixin' to roll over and stare at the back of my eyelids for a few more hours."

"Well, 'fraid it's nothing that exciting. I'm moving, leaving the hotel and going to a residence. Outside of Milan."

Dee was silent for a moment, and then questioned, sleepy tones temporarily dissipated, "Is that really the best choice C? You still don't know much about your boss."

"Yeah, it's legit. And I think it's the right thing to do. I couldn't stay in the hotel much longer, too ivory tower feeling." Dee would know exactly what she meant.

Clarice could hear her friend stifle a yawn, so continued "I'll text you the address later. You go on back to sleep, I'll call you later at a decent hour."

"'K. Love ya."

"Love you too." [D]

The next 15 minutes of her drive went by unremarkable. Clarice was excited. Living in a hotel had been nice. Not having to do the dishes, cleaning and such was great. She'd loved the luxury of the Melia Milano. But it didn't feel _home_, and after two months feeling at home was something she longed for desperately. A place to call her own, even if she didn't truly own it.

From exit Binasco on the A7 Clarice had to pay attention to where she was going, even with the GPS that simplified driving in unfamiliar surroundings. She saw on the GPS display fifteen minutes driving remained. It was a longer drive to the Questura from her new place, but acceptable.

The few villages she passed through added a growing feeling of isolation to her excitement. It was a strange combination. Each village a tad smaller than the previous one. But in a strange way, these small villages also assured her. They reminded her of the small towns from her past.

When she reached the little village of Carpignago she was afraid something had gone terribly wrong, because the first buildings she saw were a battered one on the left and a ruin on the right. How could such a village offer her a decent place to stay? But as she passed the ruin, she saw some good looking places. The GPS indicated she had to turn left at the end of the village. With mixed feelings she followed the instruction of the device, and was pleasantly surprised by a church appearing from behind the trees. On the other side of the road was her destination and it turned out to be a well sized and well kept place. Fenced, and a lot of green surrounding it. Spacious. Well kept. Luxurious. She could definitely get settled here.

Once inside, she found an envelope with her name on it. Inside were detailed instructions about the house. A housemaid would take care of the place once a week, a gardener would come by once per month. Both were locals and at least understood English, the letter said.

Getting the boxes and such in the house turned out to be a much easier job than she'd expected; not only had she a shorter distance to traverse, the letter had also mentioned she could call the housemaid to help her get settled. The woman, who introduced herself as Saveria, was somewhere in her late fifties and looked very fragile, but lifted the boxes with ease and was evidently healthier than she appeared to be. Together, they moved everything inside within a jiffy. After thanking her for her help, Clarice asked her what days she'd be there. They agreed to Wednesdays. After that, Clarice told Saveria she'd unpack everything herself. Saveria nodded and told Clarice before leaving she'd been asked to stock the fridge with food for the next days. Clarice thanked her for her help, and Saveria left. Clarice wondered if everything she still needed for tonight had perchance already been bought by the woman.

"Only one way to find out," she told herself. [MB]

She'd been mentally assembling a menu for days; playing with possibilities and discarding ideas.

She'd never cooked specifically to please a man before. After leaving the Bureau she'd felt what she could best describe as a rebirth. Self-employed, she created her own hours. For the first time she actually got to see what her kitchen looked like in late afternoon sunlight. No more twelve hour stakeouts or mounds of redundant paperwork, she took up cooking first as a hobby and then as a passion. But she lived alone, so experimenting nearly always centered around her own palate.

She'd never cooked for any of her lovers, never had the inclination to.

It was just too domesticate, and it implied something, something about some notion of home and hearth instilled in her as a child, that just wasn't there. Had never been there with any of them.

But she wanted to cook for Hannibal.

To watch his lips close around food she had prepared…

Feeling flushed, realizing she'd been lost in her own wonderings for several minutes, she set about the business of making dinner for Hannibal Lecter.

She'd decided on a three course meal, choosing quality over quantity. She was ambitious but not stupid. After all, she'd been moving all day and was still adjusting to a new environment. She would serve him three well prepared items in, she'd already decided, a fairly informal setting. Despite several years of culinary tinkering, she knew she was nowhere near his league, and didn't intend to aspire to it either. Not here tonight, anyhow. She wanted him close, comfortable, and well fed. At least for starters.

The formal dining room was out. Clarice figured she wouldn't use it at all unless she set up her laptop in there sometime over the next months.

Nope. They'd dine in the kitchen. It would make for easy transitions between courses, and allow conversation to continue. Plus Clarice was delighted by the kitchen's island. Instead of granite or marble, it was a sturdy, chunky butcher block lined on one side by two very plush looking barstools.

The pantry and refrigerator were well stocked, she noted, eying the cans of chicken broth and block of parmesan cheese. The box from the hotel contained a high quality looking bottle of extra virgin olive oil. She'd still need to hit a market for meat and fresh berries and mushrooms.

But that was fine; it would allow her to get the lay of the land.

And keep her busy until tonight. [D]


	28. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Hannibal parked his Alfa Romeo on the side of the road, along the fence that surrounded Clarice's new domicile. He got out and looked around for a moment. The church behind him wasn't of much interest to him right now, Clarice's place was. He saw a good fence with a sign 'attenti al cane,' but could neither see or smell one. The house was visible from the street, but it was nearly impossible to look inside. Clarice's car was parked just outside the garage. As soon as Hannibal had seen enough he rang the old-fashioned bell next to the entry gate. An afluttered Clarice came walking outside and opened the gate for him. They exchanged a quick peck on the cheek.

"You're earlier than I expected," she said as they walked towards the house.

"And you're later home than I expected," Hannibal answered. He smelled and felt the residual warmth of her car.

"It took longer to move. Maybe I should have accepted your offer."

She'd said it playfully, but though Hannibal recognized the serious element in her words he knew better than to reproach her.

They entered the house. Clarice led them to the roomy kitchen where Hannibal handed her a small box.

"You forbade me to bring wine to dinner, you didn't forbid me to bring anything at all."

"Just you would have been enough, really. But I do appreciate the thought. May I?"

"Go ahead, unpack it."

Clarice removed the neat wrapping paper.

"Port? But that's also wine!"

He knew she was playing with him, enticing a reaction. He decided to humor her.

"Yes, but not for dinner. _After_ dinner. This Colheita from Warre's goes exceedingly well with chocolate desserts, or can be enjoyed _as is_ afterwards."

"Just teasing you… I forgive you," she said playfully and gave him another peck on his cheek, lingering for an indefinable moment longer this time. "Make yourself comfortable. We'll eat here, but feel free to have a look at the place, I have some things to do."

He was amused by the contrasts he noticed. It was her first day in a house that was not hers, but she displayed a freedom as if she'd lived there for years. It was their first romantic evening, their first _date_, but she welcomed him as an old friend.

She was chirpy, perhaps a bit too much. He knew the events of her day were considered to add up to a non-dismissible amount of stress and that Clarice was not one to complain about that, but it affected her nevertheless. She had yet to learn to take care of herself. He knew Miss Mapp had been there for Clarice, when they shared the duplex. And the odds were Clarice would simply never learn. She needed someone to watch over her. [MB]

Of course, if anyone was to verbalize such a suggestion, she would immediately bristle. Those deep jewel eyes of hers would flash a wrathful fire, but ice, not scorching heat, would be his fate. She'd freeze him out, barriers clicking into place. All because of her damnable pride. Pride instilled in her by long absent parents, a legacy of stubborn independence that allowed poor mountain folk to survive and thrive.

So he didn't offer to help, but smiled and followed her instructions. For now.

Meandering into the living room, he could hear the rasp of a knife rapidly and repeatedly meeting a cutting board. He'd much prefer to be in there with her, watching the hands that had made her the FBI's pistol champion dice an onion; its strong essence stung his nostrils. Were tears gathering in her eyes?

She called out to him through the rooms, "Feel free to put on some music. My iPod's on the coffee table."

He spotted the horrifically gaudy lime green contraption and winced even as a smile graced his lips. He owned the same model in a sleek silver. Pulling it from its speakers dock, he scanned her selections.

His Clarice had very diverse tastes.

There was a wide selection of classical, classic rock, and a smattering of pop songs.

And an intriguing lack of anything Country or Western.

Seeing Sheryl Crow's "Are You Strong Enough to Be Man" he internally mused, Hm, _a challenge, Clarice?_

Settling on a playlist that started with Liszt's Liebestraum No. 3, he returned the iPod to its dock, adjusted the volume and continued his exploration.

Clarice heard piano chords fill the air. She was trying desperately to remember if she'd left a bra draped over the towel rack in the bathroom. Damn the man, who showed up more than an hour early?

Hannibal Lecter, apparently.

Pounding the steak carpaccio with more force than necessary, she made herself take a steadying breath.

Game plan shot to shit, she felt frazzled…but also euphoric. Did it really matter that the table wasn't set when he walked in? Or that he saw her before she did her makeup?

No. No it didn't.

It had felt too good to see him standing there.

Why waste time engineering a perfect moment, when all it took was his presence to make it so naturally?

Quickly washing up, she set out to find him. She could use an extra pair of hands. [D]

"Hannibal?"

"Yes, Clarice?" he called from the living room. Clarice walked over, not completely surprised he was still there.

"I thought, since you're here anyway, could you give me a hand in the kitchen?"

"By all means," he said and followed her, intrigued by her question.

"Would you set the table for me? I believe you'll find everything you need in that closet," she said and dived into a drawer.

"I'm sorry, Clarice, but how am I to set the table without knowing the menu?"

Clarice turned to face him. He noticed a slight blush on her face.

"Erm, you're right. Well, I'll need some nice large, low plates for starters, please, but I'll need them over here. Just some regular plates for the main course. No special cutlery needed, plain forks and knives will do."

"I'll see what I can do," he said and looked inside the closet. He could still hear the music playing in the living room from here. He noticed Clarice was watching him as he inspected the cutlery and plates.

"Your employer has provided you with more than average goods. I know he's paying you for your aid in the investigation, but did you ever thank him for anything?" he asked.

"As is usual in such situations. Why do you ask?"

Hannibal heard Liebestraum end and was pleasantly surprised to hear the first notes of Glass' Metamorphosis One.

"Is catching this murderer really his only interest, or do you feel he has a hidden agenda?"

He watched Clarice chew on the question.

"Are you jealous, Hannibal?"

"No," he said. He saw her probe his honesty. "But it is my wish to know you are fine. A wealthy employer can be a blessing but also a curse."

"He's a… strange man and some of his words have been out of the ordinary, but I don't feel he's after me. But I haven't checked the place for bugs or cameras yet, so I'm not completely sure…" she joked.

Hannibal nodded and handed Clarice the plates she'd asked for. His smile assured her of his true intentions. [MB]

Taking the dishes from him, she allowed her fingers to graze his.

The smile remained soft on his lips, but her touch elicited no apparent response. From him.

Her breath caught and his eyes shot to hers.

For all of his life Hannibal Lecter would return to this moment again and again, the seconds when Clarice first turned to him with unabashed desire.

He watched her eyes darken as blue was consumed by black, her pupils impossibly large.

Her breaths were shallow, and he found himself matching them.

Without looking at the counter, she sat the plates down and took one step and then another.

Hannibal neither pursued nor retreated, but he did drop his head ever so slightly to keep her eyes.

Her breasts just grazed his chest and he could feel her soft exhales on his face.

She dropped her eyes to his lips and asked, "Can I kiss you?"

At his raspy, "Yes" she placed both palms flat on his chest and leaned up into him. Her lips gently pressed against his; once, twice. At the third touch her tongue shot out, delicately tracing along his lips and then tugging at his bottom lip, sucking it between hers and nibbling.

Hands at his sides, passive until that moment, Hannibal released a sound very like a growl and his arms enveloped her in a full embrace. [D]

The sudden change in him surprised her. There had been only one moment like this before, when Hannibal had seemed truly… agitated. Out of balance. It was when Miggs had thrown his cum in her face. The realization that both then and now were about _intimacy_, about_ sex_, about _lust_ struck her before she knew it, and it made her giggle. She pulled pack her head, forcing him to release his hold, smiled at him and shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she said, "Let's try that again."

Hannibal grunted briefly and pulled her back to him. Now it was his turn. He slowly cocked his head to the left and moved his lips to her neck. His tongue explored her neck, experiencing the structure of her skin and its aroma. Some gentle suction was rewarded with warm breaths from Clarice. He knew she'd closed her eyes.

His hands gently rubbed her lower back, moving along her lumbar vertebrae, upward from L.5 to L.1. He mused on their function on the thigh while stroking them. He could feel her strong muscles. The psoas major, the quadratus lumborum. He could feel her flex and twist under his touch. And he could smell…

He could smell _her_. Every time they'd met, he had smelled her and her shampoos and soaps and perfumes. Right now, with his nose somewhere below her chin, somewhere above her bosom, where their shared warmth created thermal convection, he could smell _more_. The deep and heavy scent of her womanhood overpowered all the artificial fragrances she'd carried all those times. He inhaled deeply and savored the sensation.

He moved his hands upward along her spine and lifted his head.

"I think…," he spoke softly. Clarice moaned in reply. "I think you need to add some more broth if you wish the risotto to remain edible," he said softly.

Clarice moaned again, but the difference from the previous sound was obvious.

"There's plenty of time for us, Clarice, but not for the food."

She looked at the man she wanted so badly right now and tried to focus on his words while feeling his warmth against her legs and her thighs.

"Yeah," she reluctantly admitted, "I guess you're right."

Gently, they separated and Clarice poured some more broth in the pan.

"While you're at it," Hannibal said, "you might consider…"

"Hold it there - I'm cooking," she reproached him teasingly. "Wait and see." [MB]

"Why don't you pour us some wine?" she said, gesturing to a bottle on the counter. He picked it up, beads of condensation dripping down his hand, and turned it to read the label.

"Sauvignon Blanc? Very nice Clarice, many people don't get beyond red wine for beef."

"True, but us educated folks do." She exaggerated her twang and turned to him with a smile. "Right after I left the Bureau, I had some time on my hands. Not much money, but time. I took a cooking class for a semester at a community college. Loved it."

"Ah haw. Hadn't realized I was in the hands of a professional."

"Better believe it. These magic fingers can shuck a clam like nobody's business. It was actually part of the final."

She turned to accept the glass of wine from him, savoring this second graze of fingertips. But she behaved herself, his warm promise echoing in her mind. _There's plenty of time for us Clarice._

She continued, "Only took the one class, but continued experiments at home." Grimacing now, "Some more successful than others."

Stirring the rosotto, she questioned him. "What does a man wanted by the FBI and a random country or three do to pass the time?" [D]

"Loitering around," he teased. "There's enough entertainment in the world to keep busy while avoiding getting caught. And often, blending in with the brainwashed, entertained masses is best to avoid detection."

Some time later, Hannibal and Clarice sat on their barstools and ate and conversed. The steak carpaccio with olive oil, grated Parmezan and pine nuts had been a great entrée. Clarice had never liked the mustard sauce often served with carpaccio, its taste too strong, overpowering the subtle taste of beef.

And eating in the kitchen proved to be an excellent choice. The conversation never lapsed and she could keep an eye on everything. [MB]

Clarice watched Hannibal eat his last bite of risotto and figured a cleaned plate was the best compliment she could receive from a man with such a sophisticated palate.

Reading her thoughts, he dabbed his mouth with a napkin and said, "Truly delicious Clarice, thank you." His warm eyes on her, he continued, "I'm humbled by the regard you've shown me, that you've brought me into your new home when you must be quite fatigued and prepared us such a lovely meal."

"I've never cooked for a man before." Seeing his eyebrow arch, she stumbled on, surprised at her own outburst and wishing to better clarify, "I mean, I've never cooked especially for a man before." [D]

"The mere fact it was _you_ who cooked for me, is enough to make my day. To hear you say _this_ makes it… commemorable."

In spite of her 43 years, Clarice blushed at his words.

"Somehow I believe you're able to recall every day of your life."

His face didn't show his concern, but his soul burned at her very words.

"There's an abyss of difference between remembering and commemorating, Clarice. But I do not recall every day of my life - I remember what I wanted to be able to remember. And of that, I cherish what I wish to cherish."

He held a moment of silence before wielding his words.

"You have memories of your father, pleasant ones and unpleasant ones. You also have such memories of your mother - good and bad memories. All memories of what they did. And you know they tried to do their best. Do you appreciate them for that?"

"I do."

"Do you always do your best?"

"Yes."

"Do you think I appreciate what you've done for me?"

"Yes."

"Do you think you can appreciate yourself for what you do?"

Clarice lowered her head.

"Yes."

"Good."

"It's hard, Hannibal."

He nodded.

"But I'll get there. Now, how about desert in the living room?"

"Sounds like a good idea. Do you want me to get a fire going?"

She smiled. "Yes, please." [MB]

Competent.

That was the word that best described Hannibal Lecter building a fire. His sure hands efficiently constructed a pyramid from small pieces of wood. He neatly tucked kindling into the base and pulled a lighter from his pocket.

Within minutes he had a steady blaze going, the pops and crackles breaking the silence of the room. The playlist on her iPod had ended while they were still in the kitchen, but she only just noticed.

She knew he was well aware of her scrutiny, and finally managed to pull her transfixed gaze from him and take care of pouring their port and plating the raspberry trufflefudge she'd made earlier in the day.

She held his port out to him and he took it before settling on the couch next to her. Raising her glass to his, she said, "To commemorating."

Their glasses clinked and she held his eyes as she sipped the Colheita. It was rich and layered, but she barely tasted it. He held too much of her focus.

"I think you must always have control and I seriously wonder if there's been a time in your life when you just completely lost it."

Surprised at the turn her words were taking, he was nonetheless intrigued. "Clarice, I spent many years incarcerated, with simple choices like what clothes to wear or foods to eat taken from me."

"No. No, those things are superficial, surface level stuff. You maintained your control. If you didn't like the way something was going, you could retreat into that big ol' brain. Sketch scenes from Florence with perfect detail. You were still free how it mattered. I'm talking apeshit, out of your mind, control snapped and lying in little pieces on the floor. I'm talking crazy."

Eyes narrowed at her, he queried, "You don't believe my so-called crimes were committed from passion or from a frenzied place inside of me."

Ever frank, she responded simply, "No," and then elaborated, "I think every action was thought about and measured beforehand, just like you building that fire. Just like you letting me kiss you earlier but then turning away." He set his port down and turned to face her fully. Her words had gathered momentum and he knew she wasn't done. "Just like those words you just shared with me. You're telling me something, aren't you? Something even deeper. And it pisses me off and makes me want you even more, all at the same time."

"I'm a man Clarice, just a man. Bone and blood. And I assure you that pulling away from you in that kitchen was among the most challenging things I have ever done. I may play games, but only because you are a worthy opponent. Let me be frank. I will leave you this evening with only the kiss we shared earlier between us. Do you want to know why?"

Eyes big, she nodded mutely.

"I will leave you tonight because I can't tolerate the thought of being just another good time to you, a convenient tumble in the sack. Oh, it would be _gooood_ between us Clarice, of course it would. I don't begrudge you your past, you're the woman before me now because of it. But I won't be like the others."

Leaning into her, one hand reached up and drew slowly down her cheek. "When you and I come together Clarice, it will be more than just two bodies finding release. I want it all. Because the thought of anything less with you makes me feel enraged beyond bearing. Makes me feel apeshit crazy Clarice."

As out of sorts as she'd ever seen him, she felt a loosening in her chest. And she smiled.

Mirroring him, she reached one palm up to cup his cheek and leaned in to press a chaste kiss to the other.

"I understand." [D]

When the time arrived to say goodbye, Clarice walked him to the door.

"Thank you for being my guest tonight, Hannibal."

"Thank you for accepting me into your home, and your life, Clarice."

He kissed her once again.

"Will you join me to Acqui Terme Monday?" Clarice asked. "The vial I found contained blood of the fifth victim, the baby girl from Acqui Terme."

"I will. Shall we say 8 am here?"

"You're on."

Hannibal walked through the door and with a sigh Clarice closed it. [MB]


	29. Chapter 25

_**Chapter**____**25**_

The center of Acqui Terme was everything a younger Clarice had once envisioned Italy to be; mature Clarice delighted in it.

Hand in hand, Clarice and Hannibal strolled through the ornate stone pavilion with its natural spring fountain. On the patios of nearby restaurants patrons sipped glasses of wine, heedless of the fact that it was mid-afternoon on a workday.

Hannibal steered her through the town square and farther down a street until she saw a sign that read Ristorante Enoteca La Curia.

Turning to him, she smiled and asked teasingly, "An old haunt?"

"But it will be new with you, my dear. I want you to try their suckling pig with fig and onion; it's to die for."

Their host and waiter was also the owner, and greeted them like long lost family members. Clarice requested to be seated out in the terrace, which was empty and surrounded by lush greenery. In the distance a cathedral tower loomed over smaller structures.

Without looking at a menu, Hannibal placed their order. The beaming man departed to the kitchens but returned shortly, pouring them a deep red wine and depositing a plate of truffles and fresh mushrooms on their table. Trailing at his heels, a yellow Labrador retriever accompanied him.

Clarice eyed the dog, noting its fixated gaze on Hannibal.

"You seem to have quite the effect on animals."

"Animals don't encumber themselves with pretenses as humankind does." She waited for more, but he sipped at his wine. His eyes had dropped to the dog's.

"And neither do you, and they can sense that about you. Just the primal. Eat or be eaten."

"Clarice, I promised you we'd have this conversation, but do you really wish to have it here?"

"Well, we're alone. And I'd rather not have it hovering over the fine meal we're about to enjoy."

He sat his glass down and met her eyes. His palm extended, and the Lab tentatively approached him, allowing him to rub her ear and pat her head before she settled at his feet. "Very well. I once posed a question to you Clarice, a very important question. You were rather adamant in your response." [D]

Perhaps she was sorry for an infinite instance she'd brought up the topic, Hannibal's unexpected words hurt her immensely as she remembered those horrendous minutes, but now was the moment this part of his life had to be conquered. She'd have to climb that mountain or he'd have to level it.

Hannibal took a sip from his wine. Without his eyes on her, Clarice looked at the man and tried to define what, and who she saw.

"I... at that moment... could not accept the truth of love. It was insurmountable."

Hannibal delighted in her words. Love had been the mountain she'd been unable to move then. She could have asked him to stop then. But she hadn't. Not then. And now either.

"Would it be fair of me to ask you to stop?" she asked, more to herself than to him. "Was it fair to connect you being who you are to loving me?"

"You chastise yourself for the connection, Clarice, but may I remind you it was me who posed the question?"

"I took over the question. That makes it mine."

Hannibal recognized the moment, and jumped.

"So tell me, what's your answer?"

"I... Not in a thousand years. I won't ask you to stop, Hannibal. Loving me, you'll do what you think will be best for us. That could include stopping. Or the exact opposite. Whatever you decide to do will be fine, because it will be done in the name of love. I love you, Hannibal."

She sighed before she continued.

"I've seen things people wouldn't believe. Killed people who should have been in school, not waving guns at a meth lab. All part of the job. But I made damn well sure it was right. But I've seen good men being wasted for nothing but to secure one prick in an office his job. I quit the FBI years ago for good reasons, Hannibal."

Hannibal nodded.

"And I love you, Clarice, like I've never loved someone before. If loving you demands a sacrifice, you know I will make it."

Clarice nodded and cried as she took his left hand, and gently kissed the remains of his thumb. With his right, he lifted her head and kissed her. [MB]

There was a clatter in the distance and Clarice pulled away from Hannibal slightly. The owner was making his way back toward their table with a large platter in both hands, and the wink he shot her over the suckling pig confirmed her suspicions that the racket was deliberate.

Wiping at her eyes and returning his saucy grin with one of her own, she thanked him then dismissed him with the assurance that they needed nothing else.

Everything she wanted and needed was right here.

The food was, of course, delicious. But she barely tasted it.

She was too consumed by Hannibal.

Having never tried drugs, not a single experiment, she nonetheless imagined the buoyancy spreading throughout her body was akin to the most intense high.

After just a few bites her mind went back to his earlier statement, "_They__don__'__t__encumber__themselves__with__pretenses.__" _She dropped her fork with a heavy clank and leaned into him, once again capturing his lips with her own.

Minutes later, pulling away for a gasping breath, Clarice leaned her forehead on his. Holding his eyes with her own, close and electric, she rasped, "Take me somewhere."

Hannibal's response was to dig in the breast pocket of his suit and deposit several bills on the table even as he rose and pulled her toward the gate leading back to the street. [D]

.

Alessandro sat behind his desk and wondered what had happened. Sure, one could simply say Clarice had put an end to their relationship. But things never were that simple. He was sure something must have happened. If not between them, then to her, to prompt her to break up so suddenly. She was a stranger here. And with the hours she put into the case, he was pretty sure it wasn't another guy she might have met. So, something between them had happened? It troubled him that he could not think of the tiniest thing that might have triggered it.

And he was angry. Angry he'd lost what he'd found. Lost what he hadn't found before. Alessandro knew many women liked him and would have liked... well, you know what. But he'd never liked _them_. All those women were so... empty. Immature. Like Chiara. Maybe because they were all so young and inexperienced, maybe because he was more mature than his age, but he'd never liked women his own age and had always preferred the company of women who were a few years older than him. Clarice, while older, didn't quite fit the picture, though. She'd been more than just more mature. He only couldn't really put his finger on it...

Her behavior was inexplicable to him. And as with all puzzles, they kept twisting and turning in his mind, waiting for him to solve them. What had happened that had forced her to break up with him?

.

They're starting to suspect something.

There are less of them online nowadays.

And they are more careful.

They do not know I can see them.

They would have abandoned this site if they knew.

Thank you, God, for keeping their eyes. Please, keep them shut so I can do Your work.

I'll have to stop for a while, make them think it's safe again.

Too bad the Questura hasn't made an arrest, that would help. Make them feel secure while they are not. While I'm still here... [MB]

.

The couple broke through the tree line, hand in hand, and continued down the sloping trail to the river.

The woman enthusiastically pointed left, to the remains of a Roman wall protruding from the rich earth. Stopping and leaning into her, he offered her a brief history of the area. At first his hands cupped her face as he spoke and then they idly slid down her throat before skimming the sides of her breasts and settling at her hips.

No longer processing his words, she watched the movement of his lips for a few moments before slamming her mouth to his mid-sentence.

Minutes later she pulled away, now leading him to the natural hot spring with its smooth tiered stones and steaming mists.

He uttered a broken, "Clarice," and there were no other words for a long time after that. [D]

**Authors****' ****Note:****Dear****readers,****thank****you****for****continuing****this****journey****with****us.**** We hope you'll be our fellow travelers until the final chapter. We would like to warn you though, that a****fter****much****consideration****we have****decided****our****fic.****will****not****contain****a****true****lemon.****We****would****like****to****keep****our****story****a****T. And****truly,****if****a****writer****is****going****to****undertake**** creating lemons ****the process****should****be****fully****and****passionately****embraced****without****restrictions.**** We feel that's not our way. **


	30. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

There was a pleasant silence in the Alfa Romeo as Hannibal drove them to the apartment where the fifth child had been murdered. The mother still resided there and Clarice was hoping for an interview.

A strange unbalance gripped her as feelings of near giddiness intruded upon the somber nature of the investigation.

It was wrong, somehow, to have this extent of personal happiness amidst such tragedy.

She struggled with piercings of guilt before making the conscious choice to let it go.

They had this moment, now. No one was guaranteed anything beyond; exactly illustrated by Il Medico's actions.

Glancing at Hannibal's profile as he navigated the narrow street, she accepted the joy suffusing her heart.

After their earlier…exploits, Hannibal confessed he'd already made room reservations for them before picking her up that morning.

Presumptuous cad.

But she'd greatly appreciated having a place to shower, washing away the sulphur smell still clinging to their skin.

It had required a great deal of self-discipline to leave the comfty room and get to work, but thoughts of the seven month old baby girl drove her on. They'd get her justice.

Just then her phone rang, and after checking her screen she flipped it open. [D]

"Hi, Alessandro."

Unfortunately for him, Hannibal could not make out what Mr. Rubble said.

"Yes, I'm fine, thanks. Hey, listen - I'm in Acqui Terme … Well, I just knew the blood is from the fifth victim … The DNA tests confirms it? Ha - knew it! … What? … Maybe two days, I'm not sure yet."

Clarice winked at Hannibal there, and smiled.

"Just going to see the city and the crime scene. Can you call the mother for me, ask her if I can visit her today? … Oh, just text me her answer … What?"

Hannibal noticed the radical change in Clarice's voice. He looked at her and saw her face turn ashen.

"Dead? How? … Car accident? Oh my! … Yeah, thanks for telling me. Bye."

Clarice's hands dropped into her lap.

"Alessandro told me the father of the second victim was killed in a car accident yesterday. I told you my employer tried to keep his identity a secret using stooges and aliases, but I'm sure this man was my employer… which leaves me unemployed now, I guess."

Hannibal waged the options for her near future at once and figured that since the man had kept hiring her a secret, nothing would change for her the first few days. Not until his relatives would learn about his extra-curricular activities. Which meant enough time to come up with a solution.

"I assure you there's no reason for immediate worries, Clarice. I see many roads we can follow. Let today continue along the road we're already on – to interview the child's mother. Agreed, Clarice?"

It took a few moments for Clarice to respond, turmoil occupied her mind.

"Yeah," and then stronger, "okay." [MB]

He registered the resolve in her voice, unsurprised.

"You'll continue hunting Il Medico, correct? With or without a sponsor?"

Nodding, requiring no time for consideration, she answered, "Yeah. Yeah, I will. This sicko's days are numbered. Whatever it takes."

"Was it with likeminded determination that you once hunted me Clarice?"

He didn't take his eyes from the road when he posed the question, but his peripheral vision caught the snap of her head turning to him.

A few beats for thought this time.

"I dreaded finding you. And I dreamt of finding you. All these different situations played out in my head, but I could never get past being face to face with you."

"Dreaded? How so?"

"I knew we wouldn't take you alive, not a second time. I think you'd make very sure of that. And even if we somehow did, the thought of you in a cage again...suffocating from the inside out…it hurt."

"But not enough to stop."

Silence from her, she knew he wasn't done.

"You trudged onward like a good little soldier, continued tracking down the _cannibal__sicko_ before he could inflict further evil upon the world," spoken matter-of-factly, without malice, "And you found him Clarice, then you chained yourself to him…willingly risked life and limb."

She resisted the urge to drop her eyes to his thumb. Confused, and angry though she couldn't fully explain why, she blurted, "Don't. Don't compare yourself to her. And don't question my motives on this. It's not about me getting a good night's sleep or putting some ancient demons to rest. It's not about me at all. It's about those babies Hannibal. It stops. Now. And I think we're the best ones to do it, the quickest." At that last bit, he saw guilt flash in her eyes.

Resisting the urge to sigh, he continued, "I agree, you and I are uniquely qualified. We will accomplish this task; Il Medico will be stopped. But something precious and long-awaited has recently come into my life…" He turned to her and held her gaze, "the love of a woman I hold in the highest of regards. I find myself experiencing a…disquiet. Clarice, I think what I need from you is an assurance that…" Completely aghast, Clarice watched Hannibal Lecter struggle for words.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned into him, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth and then settling back. "Hannibal, I'm gonna try real hard not to be offended by your suggestion that the little woman can't take care of herself. This thing between us…." Now _she_sought words, "I'm going to be careful, no foolish risks."

Nodding once, he pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building where Il Medico's fifth victim had lived during her short months on this earth. [D]

Clarice took a file from her bag and pulled a sheet from it.

"Tagliabue, Anjelica... Hrmph, I just hate writing the family name first, you know? It creates distance between us and the victim. Just another name on the list."

She looked at Hannibal briefly.

"The first time Crawford called for me, he addressed me that way. I believed he did it on purpose, to point out to me where I stood. Sad man."

She took a short breath.

"Anjelica Tagliabue. Father unknown. Mother, 21, unemployed."

Looking at the building, Clarice guessed the mother probably never had a decent job for any length of time. A shabby exterior and surroundings. They were surely mirrored in the interior. Homes for those who cannot afford better. The Italian counterpart of a trailer parks.

"Killed February 7th, 2006 at the age of seven months. Mother said she was dining out with her friend, just around the corner. She left the child alone, sleeping. Okay, let's see if she's in. Hannibal, the Questura provided me with a special ID. I'll use it to impress her and get inside, I'll introduce you as belonging to the Acqui Terme Questura. Your Italian is fluent enough to pass you as Italian. As is your clothing."

"Assuming she understands English. And you should say the Alessandria Questura."

"Wise ass," she said, "And I found almost everybody at least understands English here. If she does not, the ID speaks for itself. Or you help me out. Let's go."

.

It took them longer than expected before they could return to their car.

"What a simpleton!" Clarice exclaimed furiously once inside, out of sight. "_We__go__to__dinner.__Anje__sleep,__no__problem_," she mimicked the young mother, making faces meanwhile. "And she gets to have a child! Such a stupid, irresponsible, ignorant, irritating… girl who doesn't even know how to lace up her own shoes! Well, she's damned lucky there are no exams for motherhood - she'd never pass!"

Hannibal let her vent her rage. He considered the multitude of possible underlying reasons she could have for this unexpected amount of fury. During all the conversations they had, Clarice had almost always spoken of her father. That was within the framework of rules and honor. Now, with family matters on the line and motherhood in question, he noticed an extremely hard knot of anger and frustration. Was it a troubled relationship with her mother that fueled it, or her own need for and lack of motherhood? Perhaps something to look into. Later.

"That friend of hers was of more interest to me."

"What?" Clarice snapped.

"That friend of..."

"I heard you. I meant: why?"

"His departure was too soon after our entrance, for one. And I'm not being jealous, but did you notice the way he looked at you? Too bad he left..."

"It's a suspicious character, but innocent of the death of Anjelica. Their alibis were as solid as can be."

"I know."

"So, what's your interest in him then? Wait, maybe you'd better not tell me..." Clarice said, jokingly but with an underlying earnestness. After their talk earlier in the day she couldn't very well offer any sort of protest.

"No Clarice. Not as long as he doesn't pose a direct threat to either you or me. But there was something rather off-putting about the man." [MB]

Giving his words several moments of consideration, she said, "I'll run a background check on him. I don't remember one in the files." Which meant there wasn't one, because she had the files nearly memorized.

After Clarice finished her notes, Hannibal started the car and drove them back to town.

.

From an alleyway by the parking lot dark eyes watched the departing vehicle.

The bitch hadn't said Questura would be dropping by.

Really, he didn't know why he bothered with her anymore anyways.

Loss gripped him as he realized he was actually wishing the police well on their mission.

_Find the bastard that took her away from me._ [D]


	31. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

The thought came to her suddenly, just after Hannibal had left, as she turned to head back to the house, when she saw the mailbox. She got out her keys and opened it. Who knows something might have arrived for her.

She found one envelope in the mailbox.

It had the familiar wax seal.

With slightly shaking hands, she took the envelope and studied it. Nothing out of the ordinary. When she checked the stamp, she saw it said Milan and Monday, early afternoon. Impossible. He died Sunday. Sunday morning, Alessandro had said. Clarice felt like she was not there. The only thing she registered was the stamp, sound and all other senses were shut out.

With a shudder, she composed herself. Her hands shook a little when she broke the seal. Same high quality paper as always, and the disappointing 12 point Times New Roman. Feeling like she was watching someone else do it, she started to read the letter.

_Ms.__Starling,_

_An__unexpected__event__has__occurred.__From__today,__Monday,__until__Sunday__I__will__not__be__available._

She immediately saw the implication that the father could not be her employer after all. But if not him, who then? It boggled her and irritated her she could not answer that question.

She continued to read.

_I__do__not__expect__any__problems__to__occur,__but__should__you__need__ special assistance__,__you__can__contact__me__through__Saveria._

_Yours__truly._

Clarice lowered her hands and looked up at the house. In her head was the simple but profound conclusion that her employer had not died. She would continue the hunt. Hannibal had told her the man's death didn't necessarily mean she'd have to stop, but now she was assured of the same resources and close cooperation with the Questura as before. It would help catch Il Medico.

And then it all hit her. She sank to her knees and bowed her head. Clarice Miranda Starling, 43, was not alone. She had Hannibal. Hannibal Lecter. A man on the FBI's top ten most wanted people list, the man she'd wanted all along and now had. Furthermore, she had a well paying job and a goal, coinciding with Hannibal's. And she had access to Questura files and facilities. There would never be a person better qualified, backed and equipped after a serial killer. With Hannibal besides her, she would catch this woman. She _vowed_ she would. She vowed _they_ would.

Back inside, she turned on her laptop and read her mail. Alessandro had sent her a few mails concerning the case. Ardelia had sent her a loving and long mail. Clarice decided to send her and her husband a nice present. [MB]

Before settling in to write a response to Dee that would discuss everything except what she most wanted to reveal, Clarice sent a quick email to the Questura office in Milan. The mother's boyfriend's name was Carlo Bruno; best to get a background check going on him as soon as possible.

He'd struck her as nondescript; vaguely shifty, but in a nonthreatening manner that made him unlikable but not memorable.

Hannibal thought otherwise.

She didn't doubt his instincts, not for a second. But she replayed the brief interview from earlier in the day again, and again.

Nothing.

Just another guy with a greasy smile and eyes that lingered where they shouldn't.

But he'd sure been in a hurry to leave.

Staring at the computer screen, her musings were interrupted by a return email from the Questura.

Expecting some sort of a request for further information or a confirmation on the subject's name, it was with a fair amount of surprise that she opened the document to reveal a public announcement declaring Carlo Bruno, age 27 of Acqui Terme, to be a known sex offender. She was frustrated to see it didn't list his specific crime, as an American bulletin would. This type of poster was usually hung at post offices and school offices back home; apparently Italy had a similar system.

Renewed anger toward the victim's mother flared hot inside of her.

Why open your home to this kind of monster? Why put your baby girl in that kind of danger?

Perhaps she hadn't known, but that in itself was enough to convict her in Clarice's mind. It was parents' responsibility to check for registered sex offenders in their neighborhood; that's why the damn things existed.

A niggling in the back of her mind questioned whether such thinking was logical considering the child had still been a baby, immobile and not yet playing in parks or riding bikes on sidewalks.

But rage simmered within her breast regardless.

Her mood was no longer conducive to writing a lighthearted letter. She was taking this too personally and knew it, but that didn't change the fact she felt bogged down by the sudden onslaught of negative energy, when only hours before she'd experienced the most blissful moments of her life.

She went to change into her running gear. [D]

.

"Hey C, are you sorry yet for leaving your five star hotel room?"

"Not really, Chiara. In fact, I kinda like it."

"Why?"

"A hotel room is nice for a while, especially one in a five star hotel. But there's nothing like a real home. A home is personal. Show me your house and I'll show you who you are."

"You're always so attentive, even in the morning!"

"My days don't start at 9 am," Clarice said while getting some coffee.

"Yeah, well, I'm so glad you're on our side. You've helped us a lot so far. I'm sure we'll catch Il Medico soon."

"Me too, Chiara, me too. Hey, is Alessandro in?"

"He is."

"Okay, see you later. Meeting's at ten, right?"

Chiara nodded and waved goodbye. Clarice walked up the stairs, careful not to spill any coffee. Upstairs, she sat down behind her desk, got her laptop from her bag and fired it up. She walked over to Alessandro's office and knocked on the open door.

"Hey, how are you?" she asked.

Alessandro swirled around in his chair and faced her. She thought he looked a bit tired.

"Yeah, fine. And you?"

She had to fight looking too bright and vivid.

"I'm okay. What's the news on the vial?"

"Nothing more than what I already told you. The blood is Anjelica's, the DNA matches."

"What do you make of finding that vial with blood from the fifth victim at a church near the first victim?"

"Do you think the murderess lives in Baggio?" Alessandro asked.

"It would be too easy. She's not stupid. But it's an option and we can't ignore it."

"Yeah. Hey, it's ten. Let's go."

"Okay," said Clarice and followed Alessandro to the meeting room. While they walked, Alessandro couldn't help but think about Clarice and that she ended their relationship. Because that's how it felt to him. Not just an affair, not just a fling. They'd had a relationship.

He'd repeat his question why later today. [MB]

Clarice felt Alessandro's eyes on her throughout the meeting, and twice she raised her gaze to his only to have his eyes skitter away.

She was too old for this.

Even _he_ was too old for this.

She fought against the annoyed sigh that threatened to escape and instead interjected her major concern as the chief's briefing on the lasted victim ebbed.

"Why wasn't a complete background check done on Carlos Bruno?"

"Who?" from Chiara's corner of the room.

"The boyfriend of the fifth victim's mother. The infant girl from Acqui Terme."

"There was no need," this from Alessandro. He continued, "Both the mother and boyfriend had a solid alibi, collaborated by more than a dozen people. It was enough to bring the mother up on neglect charges, leaving the child unattended, but the judge chose not to convict."

At a loss, Clarice stared at him for a moment, noting the anger simmering in his eyes.

From her insinuation that he and the others hadn't done a thorough job?

Or from his stinging pride stemming from their personal issues?

Fighting back her own burgeoning anger, she continued in a steady voice. "In the death of a child, parents are always suspect. Always. And their significant others. I know you all know that." Wanting to be solution oriented, she continued before Alessandro could interrupt, "It doesn't matter now, I had one ran on him. But in the future I hope background checks would be protocol. He turned up as a sex offender."

There were various exclamations from around the table.

"What was the crime, specifically?" This from Chiara.

"That's just it, the case seems to be sealed. It's going to take someone with higher clearance than what I've got."

Alessandro promised to look into it, pursue it with some of the higher ups. His tone was curt and the anger still present in his tone.

The group moved on to briefly discuss combing more cathedrals and then the team dispersed.

Several hours passed.

Clarice busied herself at The Shrine. Sitting at the desk, pouring over maps, looking at crime locations in relation to churches.

The fine hairs at the back of her neck informed her she was being observed, and she turned slowly to see Alessandro in the doorway.

He closed the door behind him before approaching her; his countenance still dark.

"Alessandro," she said by way of greeting.

"I've heard you say my name better than that. My favorite was when you moaned it as you came."

Feeling like she'd received a physical blow, she rose slowly from her desk and turned to face him fully.

"Stop. It. That's crude, and frankly, I would have thought beneath you."

"Well, I guess getting used and discarded can do that to a person."

Glimpsing for the first time how much she had hurt him, Clarice's voice gentled when she responded, "Alessandro. That wasn't what it was at all, not to me. But I'm sorry if you feel that way."

"That's what it felt like to me. I thought you and I had a good thing going."

She nodded, "It was a good thing. It was fun. But Alessandro, I didn't think either of us entertained notions of it being anything more." Genuinely baffled, Clarice thought back over their time together. He had an easy way with women; she seen it in his office flirtations even as they had their fling. Rather than jealously, his actions had amused her. She bet nearly every woman in the building held some level of infatuation for him. True, she'd felt something special with him. But even if Hannibal hadn't walked back into her life, and if their age difference wasn't too much of an obstacle for his traditional Italian family, he wasn't the kind of guy she would settle into a life with. He loved women too much to restrict himself to just one, even if he thought he could manage.

People can dam up their nature temporarily, but it eventually bursts forth.

Best not to be caught in the deluge.

"Speak for yourself."

"Okay, well, all I can say is I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I hurt you and I'm sorry if I made assumptions."

The words broke something in him, and suddenly his arms were wrapped around her and he was pinning her to the wall, nose buried in her neck and then searching for her lips.

Outraged, pity and regret gone, she angrily shoved him away before he achieved his goal. "Look, that's done. I don't know how many more ways I can say it. Can we or can we not continue a working partnership?"

Composing himself, though his breathing remained heavy, there was an ugly snarl on his lips she'd never seen before.

"That depends Ms. Starling. It seems you already have another partner. Before I petitioned for the Bruno case to be opened to us I called the mother for a phone interview. What a surprise to hear a man accompanied you on your interview with her." [D]


	32. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Alessandro watched intently as Clarice absorbed his words. Shocked. He could see she was shocked. He was sure of that. Amazed he knew. But he needed to see if there was a deeper layer to her hurt. Who was that guy she brought along? Unfortunately, the mother couldn't remember anything of importance. Clarice had done most of the talking, she'd said, the man had been very considerate and unobtrusive. He'd posed only a few questions.

The thought stung. Was he her next lover? Why would she bring her lover along? What was he? Who was he?

To his surprise, Clarice laughed.

"Good one, Alessandro. You're a great detective, you know?"

Not wanting to be flattered out of this, he persisted.

"Who was he?"

"My shrink. Psychiatrist. I asked him if he could accompany me on this one. He obliged. With her background, I thought he could be of assistance."

"Was he?"

"Not really. Hey, it was a one time opportunity, okay? I knew you were busy and I needed someone with insight."

"Who came up with the idea to check the boyfriend's background?"

"I did. Did you look into it yet?"

"Yes. But nothing of interest to our case. Something with prostitutes."

"Just add it to the file, to be sure, okay?"

Alessandro considered her words. Most of them rang true and he felt slightly less bothered.

Fact was that lately, Alessandro had felt things were… different. At the office, he'd often search for something he'd left somewhere and find it somewhere else. And nobody seemed to have moved it. The same thing had happened at home two or three times. It couldn't be a burglar, there had been no traces at all of forced entry or someone having been in the house. Besides, nothing had disappeared. Some things had simply… moved and he couldn't remember moving them.

Had they moved at all? Alessandro wasn't really sure.

Clarice waited for his answer, he remembered.

"Yeah," he said, "I'll add it."

"Are you fine? You look a bit pale."

"Don't worry, I'm fine," he kind of snarled. [MB]

.

Clarice absently rubbed the tension knot in the niche between the top of her neck and the base of her skull.

Fuck.

She couldn't tell Hannibal about this. He wouldn't tolerate the threat Alessandro now represented.

How could_ she_ tolerate the threat he represented? Hannibal's freedom and life were now hers to safeguard.

Horrified by the possibilities lurking at the edge of her conscious mind, she willfully pushed them back into the darkness.

Alessandro would come to no harm.

At least not physically.

She massaged her aching neck with one hand while pulling the fridge open with the other.

Realizing every food item required some degree of preparation and not feeling up to the task, she poured herself a glass of milk before digging out a spoon from a drawer and grabbing a jar of peanut butter from the pantry.

It was damn near impossible to find peanut butter here, something about it not coinciding with Italian taste buds. Blessing Dee for her care packages, she took her dinner to the living room and sat down on the couch, legs curled beneath her.

She startled when warm hands gripped her neck and began gently rubbing.

Sighing blissfully, she leaned into them and closed her eyes.

Knowing his stealth should disconcert her, she just accepted the happy knowledge that it was just another area in which he demonstrated excellence.

Opening her eyes, she looked into his, glad to see him free of his contacts.

"Tell me something you're bad at."

A lazy blink and then, "What do you mean Clarice?"

"What do you completely, one hundred percent, hopelessly suck at?" [D]

"I could think of a dozen things that I don't do."

"That's not what I meant, Hannibal, and you know it," Clarice said and tried to slap him, but with him standing behind her that proved to be more difficult than she'd expected.

"I… can't tell. I've not endeavored anything lately that I knew to be out of my league."

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Hannibal."

"Absolutely true. Maybe I didn't _endeavor_, but I _did_ venture. And I gained you."

"Yeah, it took a while, but I think you're good at it," she smiled. Hannibal rewarded her with a warm grin.

"Now," Clarice continued, "stop fooling around and answer my question."

"Well, let's see. I've never skied. I'm sure it would prove to be amusing to see me try."

"Nothing you've already tried?"

"Clarice, do I really have to answer that question?"

"Yes! You sure damn do!"

"Okay then. I'm not good at sailing."

"Sailing?" she asked dumbfounded and turned around to face him.

"Yes. Anything wrong?"

"Well… no. But.. Well, you know… I'd expected something a bit more… mundane, more prosaic. Something like… making spaghetti!"

"I make great spaghetti."

"I'm sure you do," she laughed.

"And I can ride a bike. Play checkers. Make…"

"Yeah, yeah, I got the picture. You're just good at about everything."

"Nothing comes without practice, Clarice, even with me."

"Talking about practice, I'd like to practice this a bit more…" she said and pulled him closer to kiss him.

She released him after a while and smiled.

"Yes, definitely improving with each attempt," Hannibal spoke. Clarice playfully slapped him on his chest, laughed and shook her head. [MB]

.

"Deliver us, Lord, from every evil, and grant us peace in our day. In your mercy keep us free from sin and protect us from all anxiety as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ," The priest's words echoed in the nearly empty cathedral. Few bodies filled the pews since it was a weekday evening.

Her voice joined a handful of others, ""For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours, now and forever."

The priest continued into the Rite of Peace; her voice and body went through the normally cathartic motions. Tonight her movements were stiff and the words dry things on her tongue. She couldn't reach a true state of communion; her mind was too consumed by chaos.

One of the mothers was pregnant again, about to bring another innocent into a cesspool of lust and perversion. She vividly recalled the little boy she'd already rescued from that family. He was seven, tall for his age, and a restless sleeper. His face had been so peaceful after she'd freed him from his earthly torment.

The weight of her burden, her purpose, was crushing. And now she felt it futile.

But no, that was Satan whispering in her ear, trying to prevent her from accomplishing the Lord's work.

New resolve filling her, she moved forward to accept the body of Christ. [D]


	33. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

"What's the score, Paolo?"

"Nothing new, Clarice. Still three vials and two lockets."

"That's not enough."

"Yeah, tell me. We've been looking for new material for weeks now. And we've tried every angle. There's just no connection or match anywhere. Nothing. It's too damn little to go on."

"Even for the FBI's computers."

It took a second or two for Paolo's mind to register what Clarice said.

"Hm?"

"Even for the FBI's computers. I've asked them a favor, to see if they could find anything. And they couldn't find anything either. It's as random as can be."

"So, should we start posting churches until perhaps somebody sees someone place a new vial or locket?"

"Sure, just call in those three-thousand men you've been hiding so far and have them post all churches in Milan," Clarice said with a bitter smile. Paolo first frowned, then smiled wryly along.

"Fuck."

.

Clarice started MSN at the appointed time and found her employer already online. It had been about a month since the car accident. The father of the second victim had not been her employer and Clarice had absolutely no idea who it might be. She often read through their saved chats and his letters, but the man was good. The clues to personal characteristics or preferences were scarce.

Clarice smiled the moment she saw the new hint to his identity, tiny as it was: his MSN mentioned the song his Media Player was currently playing. 'Clair' by Gilbert O'Sullivan. She knew the song from earlier days. A sweet and friendly tune. Well, it fit him, but it was something she could have guessed herself. And perhaps she should add he tended to be a bit too cordial sometimes.

_[Starling_PI]__Hi_

_[JanusBifrons]__ Good afternoon, Ms. Starling. I hope you're well?_ [MB]

_[Starling_PI]__ fine,__ frustrated__ but__ fine_

_[JanusBifrons]__ I'm assuming your frustration is of a professional nature, regarding the case?_

Like she'd share personal woes with this faceless man.

_[Starling_PI]__ yes, __there__'__s __been __little __progress __recently,__ i'm__ sorry __to __report_

_[JanusBifrons]__ That is most unfortunate. __I__ must __admit __to __being __disappointed__ in __the __lack __of __results. __Has __nothing __come __of __the __various __background__ checks __you __and __the __Questura __have __ran?_

_Hm. __Do __you __have __a __PI__ investigating __your __PI__ Mr.__Bifrons?_

It didn't surprise her that he had another source following her efforts, but didn't think it likely he'd placed a tail on her. She'd never felt those moments of awareness of being observed, well, not after Hannibal had revealed himself.

_[Starling_PI]__ so __far __no __but __it __came __to __my __attention __the __Questura __could __have __been __more __thorough __on__ looking __into __people_

_[JanusBifrons]__ Specifically __Carlo __Bruno?_

_[Starling_PI]__ yes __but __his __case __was __largely __sealed,__ we __did __learn __he__'__s __a __sex __offender __but__ i __haven__'__t __been __able __to __learn __much __about __the__ details, __they __could __be __relevant __to __our __case_

_[JanusBifrons] __I__'__ll __speak __to __an __acquaintance__ at __the __Justice __Department.__ You __should __have __the __full __record __soon.__ Let __me__ know __if __you __need __anything __further._

_[Starling_PI] __alright, __thanks, __there__'__s __nothing __else __right __now_

_[JanusBifrons] __I__ hired __you __because __you __were __the __best __Ms.__Starling. __Find __her __soon._

With that he logged off and Clarice was left re-reading their short conversation. She cringed at her lowercase 'i's' and sorry punctuation, but her employer's stiff formality brought it out in her. Some -perhaps juvenile- part of her wanted to rankle him a bit. Maybe it had something to do with her raising; she found herself doing the same thing to Hannibal. She adored the man beyond reason, but that didn't stop her from feeling a small thrill of satisfaction when he'd give a little twitch every time she dropped a 'nope' or 'yup.'

Aloud to her empty room, Clarice Starling questioned, "Who are you Mr. Bifrons?" [D]

.

It was not that he'd say he didn't trust her. He had got to know Clarice fairly well during the last few months, and he knew she was trustworthy. She was earnest. He could not say he had caught her in a lie. It was more like feeling she wasn't telling him all. And his mother had taught him half a truth is a whole lie.

There was no way he could have entered her hotel room without her knowing it, and yesterday he went to see the place she lived now – it was impossible to enter that as well. He knew about the wealth of her employer, which was really bothersome right now. Money meant good security and he wished he could have an unnoticed quick peek...

"Hey, Alessandro!" Chiara said as she walked by and placed her hand on his shoulder for a second as a greeting.

"Hi, Chiara."

Chiara looked around at his gloomy voice and looked at him.

"You okay?"

"I didn't sleep too well."

Chiara took a second look at Alessandro and shook her head.

"I can see that."

She held his eyes but he didn't elaborate. She decided to prod him a bit, as she believed she knew what was going on. She wasn't completely blind.

"Thinking about Clarice?"

Alessandro looked at her, feeling slightly crossed.

"You think I'm blind? I know exactly what's going on, Alessandro. You can't fool me," she said in a way that could even be considered flirtatious.

"Stop it, Chiara, I'm not in the mood."

"When will you be? I've missed you."

After a quick glance around to see if anybody was watching, she let her hand rest on his.

"Don't, Chiara. We've tried that. It didn't work, remember?"

"I remember you broke up. I don't recall it not working. Maybe you were wrong?"

"Alessandro!" Ispettore Gregoris yelled from across the hallway.

"Coming!" Alessandro replied. "I've got to go, Chiara."

"I'll be waiting..." she said and gently cupped his cheek. [MB]

He brushed her hand away, clearly annoyed.

Unperturbed, she watched his fine backside depart before moving about her own business. He'd come around—and a feline grin split her face—and then he'd _come__around_.

.

"Oh God! That's perfect! Right there!"

Hannibal savored her moan, took note of the exact placement of his hand, and began to rub harder.

This was, without question, the best foot rub of her life.

Throwing her head and arms back in bliss, Clarice stretched out farther on the settee.

"I spoke with my boss today. Well, messaged, anyhow."

"And?"

"Just informed him of the lack of progress. Told him about the Bruno file being sealed. He said he knew some people, no big shocker there. He's going to try to get it to me as soon as possible."

"What was his reaction to the lack of progress?"

"He didn't seem mad. I just don't have any idea who this guy is now."

Hannibal was quiet for a moment, those magic fingers still at work.

"Oh, one thing today. I could see what song he was listening to, through his MSN account." [D]

"I remember the song from when I helped my mother in the hotel. It was very popular on the radio. Clair, by Gilbert O'Sullivan."

Clarice wasn't sure if Hannibal was familiar with the song, and she couldn't tell from his face. She still liked the song and started to sing the first lines.

Hannibal looked up at her and smiled encouragingly, but Clarice believed she sang enough. He focused on her soles again.

"Do you know the song, Hannibal?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"It's such a sweet love song. It sounds so... innocent."

Hannibal stared at Clarice.

"It's not really innocent, did you know? Many believe it to be a love song between two adults, while in fact it's about an uncle for his young niece?"

"A pedophile?" she said with disgust.

And that was the exact moment Clarice saw pieces of the jigsaw puzzle fall in place. [MB]


	34. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Clarice rose quickly from the couch and began pacing the room, Hannibal's avid gaze following her.

"Pedophilia! Shit, Hannibal! It was right there to see."

Though he remained sitting, he leaned forward, his body crackling with sudden energy, "Yes. Yes. It fits. Well done, my dear."

At her exclamation neurons had rapidly fired throughout his brain, drawing connections, but Clarice's own thoughts still whirled and she needed to say it out loud to process it all.

"The sixth child, the most recent victim, her father served jail time for sexually abusing the older sister…"

Hannibal interjected, sensing her need to work through it verbally, "Yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean he abused the victim as well."

Still pacing, she responded, "No. No it doesn't. But it makes it a very likely possibility. And this whole thing with the Bruno file being sealed. What's a major reason records are sealed? Cases regarding minors. We know it was some sort of sex crime, my money is on pedophilia." Her face grew stormy as the implications hit her. "It means Bruno was…that seven month old baby."

Sitting heavily by Hannibal, she clasped his hand. Through all the darkness she'd waded through working for the Bureau, and even after as a PI, she'd always gone it alone. It felt good, his solid, warm presence next to her.

"Il Medico has deemed herself the savior of these children, freeing them from a type of hell." There was a tone to his voice, the barest hint of understanding that infuriated her.

"Christ, this changes nothing! She's a serial killer that guts babies. This will just help us catch the bitch faster."

He was silent for a long moment, and her suspicion grew.

"Does this change anything for you Hannibal? Will you still help me catch her?"

"Yes Clarice, of course I'll stand by you. But, you must understand…" his voice stopped for a moment and his eyes dropped to their joined hands, "after Misha died, part of how I kept sane was knowing she was in no more pain. I was cold, the deepest kind of cold, and so hungry. And there was this rage clawing at me from the inside. But I knew she didn't have any of that. Just oblivion. It let me keep going."

Thinking of the little boy he had been and not having any words fitting enough, she drew him down to her heart in an embrace. [D]

"Yeah, I think I understand, Hannibal. I'm sure she _has_ been spared a lot of pain. I cannot truly fathom its depth, I can only sense it from what you've told me. You've tried to tell me how deep that river of pain is."

"You took a dive here and there too, Clarice," Hannibal responded, still in her arms.

"Yeah, I guess. But I wasn't drowning. I was swimming. And looking down into the water, it's hard to make out how deep it in fact is."

Hannibal moved out of her embrace and looked at Clarice.

"Please, Hannibal, don't say it. Let's move on."

Hannibal now drew her down to his heart. They remained embraced for an unaccounted span of time.

"So..." Clarice started.

"Hm?"

"My employer is a pedophile, too. If all victims have in common they were abused by someone close by, and since my employer is related to the second victim - did he abuse his... niece? Granddaughter? And that's why he's so keen to get the killer? Revenge?"

"You're not sure he actually is related, but in all probability the answer is yes. Nothing else scored three out of six so far."

"He won't be happy if we follow that lead."

Clarice sat up straight.

"He won't be happy at all. And he won't be cooperative." [MB]

"No. I imagine not. Hannibal, I don't think he realizes the connection. He wouldn't have hired me otherwise. I have too much of a reputation as a straight arrow; I'd never let something like that stay covered up, and he would've known that."

"When he pulls his strings to open the Bruno case, he'll likely figure it out."

"True, but let's deal with that when we get there. How is she figuring it out? How did Il Medico identify these men and their activities? They're from different walks of life, different cities…"

"As you well know Clarice, likely better than me, we live in the Information Age. How do any people with a common interest with geographical distances communicate?"

"Okay, so they're all members of some online pedophile club. I'll buy it. Let's work that angle and see what turns up." She forced herself to view it as just a possibility, it was nothing empirical yet. A strumming excitement in her veins told her otherwise. [D]

.

"No," Alessandro said finally. It was already well past dusk at the Milanese Questura.

"I agree," Chiara chimed in, too fast to Clarice's taste.

Clarice knew that, since she didn't want to compromise her employer yet, the odds were against her to convince them. The father of one child was known to have abused the sister, and one child whose mother's boyfriend was once convicted for pedophilia, that was not enough. But she couldn't tell about her employer. Yet, anyway. She stirred her cold coffee once more.

"Why not?"

"It's too… It's not enough. Six murders. Two family members known for pedophilia, but not proven to be with these kids and one even years ago. It is a good idea, but not enough."

"I agree also," Gregoris said, "Good idea, and we will keep it in mind. But it's not enough."

Alessandro had looked at him, appreciative for the support, knowing Clarice could think his decision was out of malice. Now, he turned to Clarice again.

"Yes, we will keep it in mind. If real proof turns up or when we hear more of them were also victim of pedophiles, we'll investigate it."

Clarice had anticipated they wouldn't accept her theory. Before, she probably would have kept on arguing. Now, she just shrugged. Hannibal had predicted this and she'd agreed. But it was worth a shot. So, plan B it was. They would proceed to investigate this lead on their own.

"Okay, right," she said and studied her papers. She could feel the tension in the air and the frustration suffocated her.

"Paolo," Clarice asked, "what about that third locket? Any news on that?"

"The hair is from the fourth victim. Beyond that, nothing. Still no pattern, no connection, no logic. She just left them _somewhere_," he answered slowly. Then he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"Yeah, it's been a long day," Alessandro replied to that, "Let's continue this meeting tomorrow."

All nodded in approval and rose. Gregoris and Clarice cleared up the pizza boxes from dinner while the rest took their leave.

"Are you okay?" Gregoris asked when they were done.

Clarice sensed his question was more than mere politeness. The old fox was observant, she knew. He probably knew all about her relationship with Alessandro and that it had ended.

"Honestly? Great - if it wasn't for a terrible headache due to working behind a too small desk and queasy bowels due to too much pizza," and in spite of it all Clarice managed to smile at the man.

"Uhuh," he replied and waited for Clarice to say more.

Clarice straightened her back and snapped her neck for comfort. There was nothing she could do about her stomach for now, though. She had to watch her mouth with this man.

"Really, I'm doing great. Must be hard to believe, I know."

"I've never seen him this upset about a lost relationship before, you know. He really liked you."

"And I really liked him. But we're through. Period. I think he just needs some time."

"He sure does."

"You want a ride?" Clarice asked.

"I thought you'd never ask!" Gregoris exclaimed and laughed heartily, surprising Clarice with his energetic outburst at this improbable hour. [MB]


	35. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Hannibal Lecter regarded Carlo Bruno over the rim of his cup of Earl Gray. The man was distinctly rodent-like, Hannibal decided, watching him scurry across the square. Not a mouse, though. There was a menacing darkness lurking in his beady gaze that made him more…predatory. A ferret, perhaps. Mr. Bruno was a ferret.

Deftly setting the cup on the saucer, Hannibal stood, dropping a handful of euros on the outdoor café table before setting off.

Mr. Bruno was disappointingly easy to tail, and as he neared Bruno his ferret analogy only gained credence. The man stank. Not of any sort of animal musk, which frankly could have been tolerated, but the clogging stench of a male who has saturated himself in cheap cologne. Hannibal's nostrils were actually stinging from the aerosol assault; Bruno's product of choice was clearly alcohol based. After a week of surveillance, this was the closest Hannibal had been to the lanky Italian.

After eight blocks the cityscape devolved. Neat shop fronts shifted into abandoned buildings with boarded up windows. There was less foot traffic even as the transient population increased. Hannibal was forced to fall back or risk discovery.

From a half a block away Hannibal watched Bruno dart into a corner bar. Leisurely, he followed.

One middle aged, bleary eyed man sat in the corner nursing a beer. He didn't look up as Hannibal entered.

The barkeep, a silver haired rather frail looking man, was engrossed in a tabloid with pictures of pie pan looking UFO's splashed across the cover.

He barely glanced up as Hannibal enquired, "Posso usare il bagno?"

The man gestured to the back and returned to his reading.

Hannibal went through a doorway into a narrow hall that led to a single door

The restroom was occupied, of course.

After many minutes he could hear the toilet flush and then water running at the sink. When Bruno opened the door to step out, Hannibal swiftly placed a taser at his neck and stunned him, catching him before he could hit the ground.

Dragging his burden back into the restroom, Hannibal quickly assessed his surroundings.

Graffiti covered the brick walls and the floor was sticky underfoot. One bare bulb constantly flickered overhead, first ultra bright and then dim, the pulse of the decrepit building.

Working quickly, he stripped Carlo Bruno of his clothing and secured his hands and feet with plastic binding.

Four minutes elapsed before Bruno regained consciousness.

It was to the man's credit that he whimpered instead of shrieked as he took in Hannibal Lecter's visage. Bruno had no idea who he was. But Lecter's playful grin chilled Bruno nearly as much as the Harpy in his left hand.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bruno. We've met once before, you perhaps recall?"

Bruno stared at him for a long moment before nodding and managing to croak, "Si, yes, yes. You're a cop?"

Despite his bound state Bruno visibly relaxed, and Hannibal grinned wider, allowing him the misconception for a second longer before bring the Harpy to the man's throat and slitting the barest of lines. Small beads of blood oozed before dripping down his neck and onto the floor, adding to the stickiness.

"No, Mr. Bruno. That is incorrect. But I do have an interest in some of your illegal activities. Are you familiar with the term Virgin Cure?" Bruno shook his head, the Harpy scraping along his skin. "No? Well, in various countries, especially those with high AIDS populations, some people believe that intercourse with a virgin cures the body of illness. In South Africa, for example, nearly sixty children are raped every day, many of them infants. Tell me, when you assaulted Baby Anjelica, were you seeking a cure? Some type of salvation?"

Tears leaked from Bruno's eyes and snot dripped from his nose. "No! No! I never hurt her like that. I loved her…"

"Perhaps not sexual intercourse, but you did assault her." It wasn't a question and the knife pressed deeper into his skin.

"Yes, I touched her, but…" Hannibal cut him off, not needing anything more.

"Tell me about the others, the others who share your _interest_." [D]

"What? What others?"

Hannibal was losing patience with the man. And time was running out; though it was unlikely this barkeeper would be interested how long people used the restroom, Hannibal knew he should not press his luck.

"The other pedophiles from your private internet forum."

Hannibal could see the question landed this time. Bruno's eyes widened in terror, his whole body tried to shy away from this strange, perilous man who seemingly would kill him soon.

"And don't lie, Carlo," Hannibal said and leaned forward. "I can tell if you lie. I can _smell_ it. Now, answer me."

Bruno quivered before him.

"Are you member of a private forum for pedophiles?"

"Y... Yes."

"Did you abuse Ms. Tagliabue's daughter?"

"No!"

"Did you _photograph_ her and did you upload those pictures?"

A slight pause before the petty man answered with a dry throat.

"Yes."

"Do you have the codes for the forum on you? Can you give them to me now?"

"N... No. They're in a file, on our computer. I could not remember them."

"What file? Is it encrypted? What is the name of the file?"

Bruno swallowed and squirmed. Hannibal could smell his sweat and fear mingle with the offensive scents from the restroom. He decided he wanted a bath when this was through as soon as possible.

"No, it's just a file."

"The name?"

"… Indirizzi autorimessi."

Hannibal leaned in once more but could not detect a false note. The little ferret had spoken the truth. And he had said 'our computer', which simplified matters as well.

"You have been very cooperative, Mr. Bruno. I will reward that with a swift and nearly painless death," Hannibal said and snapped the man's neck. [MB]

.

Clarice hummed as she tossed the Romaine lettuce in fresh lemon vinaigrette and she knew a smile stretched across her face. She couldn't help it; she was happy these days.

A series of beeps announced the fish was done baking.

Donning a single pot holder, she pulled a cedar plank, blackened at the edges, from the oven. Two salmon fillets sizzled in their own juices; done but not too done, perfect.

Clarice glanced at the clock on the oven. Hm. Hannibal should have returned by now. Walking to the living room, she checked her cell phone. No missed calls. Something stirred in her, not something she would actually label 'worry;' if anyone could take care of themselves, it was Hannibal Lecter. And 'annoyance' was too strong and not quite right either. Mostly she just wanted to serve dinner while it was still warm.

Soft pillows beckoned, and she succumbed, stretching out across the couch. Idly she reached for the remote and clicked on the television. Infomercials were still annoying, regardless of language. Finding a news channel, she settled back. It was a fun game to see how many words she could recognize; thanks to these past months her Italian was rapidly improving.

It was a weather report, and she was able to decipher the numbers. Warm and sunny tomorrow, nice.

The meteorologist handed off to a reporter standing in front of a seedy looking bar. "Il corpo di Carlo Bruno, 27 di Acqui Terme, è stato scoperto qui all'inizio di questo pomeriggio."

What the fuck?

Carlo Bruno's body?

From behind her Hannibal's rich voice said, "My dear, I have some news to share with you." [D]

Her neurons processed his words at lightning speed, along with the images and words from the television, when everything all of the sudden aligned.

"You killed him," she merely said.

Hannibal, off course, could hear and see it was a statement, not an accusation. Her voice was as usual, her shoulders didn't stiffen. Which was interesting. He knew they had a long way to go. With their different background and their - let's admit it - swift and young relationship, there were issues still unresolved. Not even touched upon, even.

"Yes."

Clarice remained silent for an unusually long time, but Hannibal knew she was very busy doing some serious thinking. He watched her minor movements from behind. A lovely sight, he admitted to himself. A sight to remember and a woman to keep forever. _'Till death do us part_.

"When I quit the FBI, some major changes had already taken place in me. You know about most of them - meeting and getting to know you have been the instigation."

She sat up and turned around partially. Clarice looked up at Hannibal, one leg on the couch.

Hannibal saw how she had to lift her head and eyes to capture his. He walked over to the opposite couch and took a seat. This also created a more peer-to-peer atmosphere.

"I had plenty of time to think about you, and your actions. The things my mother taught me were more in her actions than her words. She was a proud and stubborn woman, Hannibal, incorruptible as a statue. She didn't lie, she didn't cheat and she never killed anybody. It was my father who taught me how to kill."

She closed her eyes for a second, then opened them again and continued.

"But only if it was Right. It took you for me to learn that what I considered right sometimes differed from what others considered right."

She sighed.

"So, I quit the FBI. And just now I found myself fully at ease with the idea you just killed Bruno. And it almost frightens me to say it, but maybe I could even have killed him myself."

She went on her knees before Hannibal and took his hands in hers.

"I think I understand, Hannibal. And it's okay." [MB]


	36. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

If she had any doubt about her employer's guilt, it vanished as she read his most current mail.

**Dear Ms. Starling,**

**Despite herculean efforts on the parts of several of my contacts, I must inform you that I was unable to secure Carlo Bruno's full, disclosed record. Much of his record remains sealed. I understand this is a disappointing setback, but I trust you shall continue the investigated undaunted and pursue other leads. **

**Please keep me updated on your progress.**

**Regards,**

**J**

Herculean efforts, huh? Well, his story was a giant load of shit much like that flowing from the Augean stables.

He was holding out on her because, upon reading Bruno's full file, he'd made the pedophilia connection. His own crimes were in danger of being exposed. Clarice spent a moment wondering if he felt any guilt, knowing his actions had made Il Medico target a child, a child close to him, likely related to him. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind then she dismissed it as irrelevant. Older and wiser Clarice Starling could perceive shades of gray between the black and white of right and wrong. But a few absolutes still existed, and caring if a child predator felt remorse was a waste of time and resources. Those individuals were among the unforgivable. Attention should be focused elsewhere. [D]

She sat back after reading the letter and faced Hannibal. He thought the setting sun behind her made her look like Mucha's Prinzessin Hyazinthe.

"So, who is Mr. X?" she stated. "Is he _mister_ at all? Of all the things he told us, what is true and what is not"

"It was not until inquiry was made after Carlo Bruno that he started to fidget. He's not stupid but he's not very bright, either. It seems he simply wants to divert attention from the pedophile view on things. I believe a mail with a faux assurance you'll stop investigating the 'useless' pedophile angle should work wonders for now. The Questura believes it's a dead end. If you confirm you believe that too, his suspicion will be lulled to sleep. You assured me you didn't push it at the meeting."

"I didn't push it, no."

"Male, obviously, and adult. Not Maria's father, but someone who was close to her: a relative or close family acquaintance. You know, I watched the family for some time before you were hired. Unfortunately, I've only been able to get in touch with a distant aunt. She's a board member at La Scala, the only one of the family to be in such a public position. They really tend to 'lay low.' I extracted a great deal of information on family members and their acquaintances from her. The latter are only a handful, and I checked them all. We can rule them out. It must be one of the seven uncles or two grandfathers."

Clarice interrupted him.

"The letter he wrote that Monday we went to Acqui Terme!"

She rose suddenly and paced around a few steps before continuing.

"He mentioned an unexpected event and that he'd be unavailable until… Sunday."

"The funeral of Maria's father was on Saturday," Hannibal prodded.

"Okay, so Mr. X is one of those seven men."

"Yes, Clarice. But why bother trying to figure out who Mr. X is from our current perspective?"

Clarice froze on the spot.

"What? First, you're telling me all about the family, trying to pinpoint my employer, now you're telling me we shouldn't?"

"No, I'm not saying we shouldn't. I'm suggesting another approach to the problem. Since we've discovered this case is about an internet forum for pedophiles, where they share their… information," - Hannibal saw Clarice grimace at the thought of what kind of _information_ - "and that our killer has access to this forum, unknown to the other visitors."

Clarice looked at him with half closed eyes. It was getting late after all.

"So?"

"Carlo Bruno voluntarily shared his knowledge about the forum. We can…"

"WHAT?" Clarice exclaimed and jumped from her chair. "You have found access to the forum?"

Hannibal watched her face display a subtle array of emotions and expressions.

"Yes and no. I know where to find access to the forum. It's in a file on the computer he shared with Anjelica's mother."

"And why didn't you tell me this earlier today? I thought we were in this together?"

No matter how lovely those last words made him feel, she was right. He could have known she would want to be told sooner.

"I could make up a lot of excuses why, Clarice, and make you believe I had a perfectly good reason. But I won't. I should have told you sooner - I am sorry for that."

He realized the breach of trust he had caused, and was thinking about how to restore the confidence. Even though their relationship was out of the ordinary, plain trust remained of major importance. Of capital importance. trust, of course, cannot be forced, it has to be earned over time. And it can be lost in the blink of an eye.

"I'm sorry, Hannibal."

He almost thought his ears were playing a prank on him.

"It's been a rough day and I'm still a bit cranky in spite of all your efforts to make me more comfortable."

She turned towards him and faced him.

"I understand your primary concern was my welfare, you took care of that first. And you did tell me. In due time, when I was up to it, when we were talking about how to proceed."

"I am glad you feel that way, Clarice."

"But I think I could use another massage right now, Hannibal," she said and smiled. [MB]

Hannibal accommodated her wishes, as he knew he always would, circumstances permitting. There was very little he would deny her. Not one for regrets, the concept foreign to his nature, he had, however spent more than a few moments in their decade apart pondering just what he would have done if she had answered his question with something other than, "Not in a thousand years." Of course, if she had answered it any other way she wouldn't be Clarice Starling and he wouldn't love her.

He started with her feet. She had lovely high arches.

She was soon moaning her appreciation, and he worked his way up to her strained calves, tired from her extended run earlier, and then gently nudged her over so he could work on her lower back.

After a time she mumbled something into the pillow.

"What was that my dear?"

Turning her head to the side, though her eyes remained closed, she tried again. "You're always doing for me. Giving me massages, making me these amazing meals, and when we…" her voice trailed off for a moment, but he knew exactly where her mind traveled. Heat flashed across his gaze, unnoticed by her. "Well, when we're intimate…you're, well, generous doesn't begin to cover it."

"Clarice, you just prepared a delicious meal for us. Regarding the other, I promise you I have not felt slighted. Quite the contrary." Simple, succinct words. His tone rang their truth.

After a beat of silence she continued, "Still. I don't think I've ever given you a massage." A playful smile graced her lips though it didn't quite mask the lurking vulnerability in her eyes.

Shockingly, wonderfully, Hannibal pulled away from her and flopped back on the coach, limbs splayed.

"I'm completely at your disposal Clarice, do with me what you will."

Giggling, she crawled up his body and then lifted, straddling him. For a moment she ran her hands down and then up his ribcage.

Was Hannibal Lecter ticklish?

"I think this will work better if you flip over."

"I think that may prove challenging with you on top of me."

"You complainin'?"

"About that, never."

He finally did manage to turn over, and she proceeded to work her strong hands into his muscles. She could feel his warm skin through the fine linen of his shirt. She had to fight against her desire to take it off of him. Right now, massage. In her current mindset she knew bare skin would lead to other things.

Silence cocooned them except for her deepening breaths accompanied by his steady ones. Now she was starting to feel a challenge rise to do something about that iron control of his. She'd just edged her hand beneath his chest, grasping for that top button, when her doorbell rang.

Startled, not expecting anyone, she rose quickly and checked the security monitors. 

It was Chiara. [D]

Clarice's voice rang through the house. "It's Chiara! Hannibal, she mustn't see you. Go!"

She heard the couch springs and knew he'd hide. Turning back to the display, she looked at her unexpected visitor. Chiara hopped to and fro and was clearly very agitated. Clarice pushed the button next to the display and started to speak.

"Chiara, what an unexpected surprise! I'm on my way, hold on."

She unlocked the front door and walked over to the fence to unlock it. Chiara kept moving about. She threw her cigarette away and followed Clarice inside.

While Chiara hung her coat, Clarice took a peek in the living room. She noticed Hannibal had removed his wineglass and everything else that indicated Clarice had a visitor. She led Chiara into the living room and asked her to sit down. The girl did as she was prompted, but she kept moving nervously and wrung her hands a few times. Her eyes didn't wander around the place, but she seemed to be deep in thoughts all the time. Instead of asking her directly why she'd come and wake her from her reverie, Clarice decided to wait and see.

It took Chiara a minute or two to realize she was expected to explain herself. She held her hands to her head, and started to speak.

"It's about Alessandro. I think there's something wrong with him. He was acting really strange just now."

Clarice repositioned herself slightly in her chair. But before she could respond, Chiara continued.

"I… was with him this evening. We went to his place after work. That's when it started…" [MB]


	37. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

"When what started?" Clarice was trying to be patient, but even under normal circumstances Chiara often rubbed her the wrong way. It had something to do with the younger woman's exuberance, all that energy but no restraint.

"Alessandro and I, we were at his place, ah…" Chiara darted a glance at Clarice, noting the single brow arched as she waited for her to continue. "We were…" this second pause pushed Clarice to genuine anger.

"Chiara, I don't care if you were humping like bunnies. What happened?"

The cold, crisp demand jarred Chiara enough to finally get her story out. "We were in his bedroom, getting ready to make love, and he reached into his nightstand…I guess he didn't find what he was looking for. But he completely lost it. He started raving about somebody going through his stuff, about stuff missing or being moved. The whole time he was fuming, and started getting louder and louder. He was moving around the room, throwing furniture around and breaking stuff. But he was also getting dressed. He mumbled something about you just as he walked out. That's it. But Clarice, you should have seen his eyes. He was crazy! The way he said your name as he left made me think he might be here, or on his way here."

Several thoughts clashed in Clarice's mind, chief among them was a desire to talk with Hannibal. Apparently that would have to wait though, because a quick glance at her security monitors revealed Alessandro approaching her front gate. [D]

"Stay where you are, Chiara, Alessandro just arrived," Clarice said. She checked if Chiara really did as she was told. The doorbell rang. Walking towards the front door, Clarice almost felt like being in a farce, and smiled bitterly. This sure as hell would be easy if she could simply walk off stage. She checked Chiara before opening the door with a sigh. She walked outside and opened the gate for Alessandro. Clarice could see he was still very disconcerted, though the drive seemed to have cooled him down somewhat.

"I see Chiara beat me," he stated, nodding his head at her car.

"Yeah, she's in the living room," Clarice answered.

"She should not have come here," Alessandro continued, "If she's inside, I'll ask you here and now: were you in my home?"

His eyes were dark, darker than Clarice had ever seen before, and she could sense the fury smoldering beneath the surface. He was immensely angry, yet not beyond reason.

"No," Clarice answered him, facing him and holding his eyes, "You never gave me a key, I never secretly copied it and I never broke into your house."

She watched as her words worked their way into his brain and noticed how he, the inspector he was, compared them with her expression and stance. She saw him digest and accept them. And with it, his fury dissipated and was replaced by an expression of hopelessness.

"I... don know what's happening, Clarice."

"Why don't you come in," Clarice said, "so we can talk about it."

"Okay," he replied softly.

Clarice gently grabbed him by his upper arm and led him inside. She led him to the living room, where they met Chiara who was sitting on the edge of the couch, wringing her hands. As they entered, she rose and watched them intently. Or better said, she watched Alessandro mostly, Clarice noticed. And she saw Chiara was in doubt whether to speak or not, which surprised her greatly. She'd never shown a decent amount of self control before.

On the other hand, Alessandro didn't appear to be about to start either.

"Have a seat, Alessandro. You want a drink?" Clarice asked, breaking the silence.

"Erm... yeah, that would be great. Can I have a Martini?"

Clarice smiled inwardly, knowing he wasn't asking for a cocktail. She'd noticed a straight Martini vermouth was a common drink here and Alessandro's favorite.

"Chiara?"

"Nothing, thanks."

"Okay. One moment, Alessandro."

Clarice walked to the kitchen. With her gone, Chiara dared to speak to Alessandro.

"Io preoccupato per te," she started.

"Perché?"

"Mi importa di te."

Clarice could hear Chiara rise from her place, walk a few steps and sit down again. With the Martini in her hand, Clarice reentered the room.

"Here you are," she said and handed him his drink.

Alessandro took it from her and downed half of it after short consideration.

"I feel like I'm going crazy," he said. "Sometimes when I get home, I feel something is different. I'm not sure what or why, most often it's finding things somewhere else than where I left them. Or not finding them at all. Or finding a door closed I'm quite sure I had left open. The only explanation can be somebody must be doing this, but I can't find any traces, prints or whatever. It's as if things happen by themselves. Perhaps it's _Il Diavolo_..."

"I'm sure it must be someone," Chiara stated.

"Then why can't I find any traces? You know me, Chiara. If there were traces, I'd find them."

Chiara didn't know what to say. Clarice realized she knew the perpetrator.

"Alessandro," Clarice said, "It's been hard times lately. The case, you and me, and now Chiara. Perhaps it's just your nerves playing tricks on you. Take a few days off and see if it helps."

"Yes, that's a good idea!" Chiara chimed in. And for once, Clarice was happy for her colleague's joy. [MB]

.

Hannibal Lecter could never surprise Clarice Starling.

That's not to say she could predict him or even begin to fathom the depths of his psyche. He remained, largely, unquantifiable. There were exceptions, small moments of alignment when his soul was transparent to hers. But she _expected_ him to push boundaries, to eke out a path shaped by his own unique morality. When one constantly expects the unexpected, it is difficult and rare to achieve a genuine level of surprise. But she nearly reached it when it clicked in her mind Hannibal had been searching Alessandro's apartment. More than searching, apparently.

She felt a subtle shift in the air behind her and turned to face him.

Her brow wrinkled as she looked at him in puzzlement. "Why?"

He knew exactly what she was asking and responded, "I needed to assess his level of threat to us. I won't take chances, not with my freedom and most assuredly not with yours. That was the reason for the first visit."

"Okay." She crossed the room and settled on the couch, knowing a possibly lengthy and definitely weighty conversation was about to occur. Resentment stirred in her breast; this was the second piece of significant information he'd withheld from her. She needed to understand why. "Tell me about the others."

He settled in beside her. "I've returned several times, moved things as he described. As to why," here, Hannibal paused for a moment, "my actions were partly motivated by a desire to distract Ispettore Corvo. He is rather astute, and my visits created an internal conflict within him, an effective diversion away from you and me."

She held his gaze, steel in her tone, "You were playing with him."

"Yes," spoke with a rasping vehemence.

"Why?"

"It angered me, Clarice, that such an ordinary man, an uninspired man, had enjoyed your favor."

"You're pissed because we were lovers?"

"_Pissed_ doesn't capture the rage I felt when I found your face cream in his medicine cabinet. He's kept it, tucked in a corner on the middle shelf."

"Hannibal, you said before we started all this that you accept me. All of me. Which means my past too."

"I begrudge you nothing, Clarice, I am happy for any moments of comfort or peace you had before me. But I begrudge _him_; I find it intolerable that he holds any hope of your return."

"It was a fling for a couple of months. It didn't mean anything."

"It meant something to him, and to you too. You're worried for him."

Was it possible that Hannibal Lecter could entertain any amount of insecurity? The man who'd lived in her every waking thought for years? She studied him for a moment. Her Hannibal defined inscrutability, and most would see a man reclined on a settee, expression neutral. But Clarice took in his subtly stiffened posture and the set of his lips. Apparently it was more than possible.

She drew herself up on her knees and crawled the short distance to him, then captured his face in her palms. Holding his gaze with her own, she leaned into him and spoke the truth in her heart.

"Do you think that there's any possibility, any at all, that I would have started something with Alessandro if I knew you were in my future?" He could read the pain in her eyes as she continued, "You were an impossible dream, one that was never gonna come true. You were always there with me. And that was beautiful and comforting. But it also hurt. I ached because I knew I would never have you…"

Hannibal Lecter swallowed past the emotion gathered in his chest. He had ached all those years too. But never, never had he relegated her, them, to the unattainable.

Now here they sat, together. It was all that mattered. Was he some petty, jealous teenager that he couldn't get beyond Clarice and Alessandro's past?

He continued where she had stopped, "So you accepted life for what it was and found joy where you could?"

She smiled at him, her eyes glistening. "Yes."

He nodded, "Clarice, I acknowledge jealousy and anger contributed to my actions regarding Alessandro. But he is a danger to us. Upon my first visit to his apartment I removed Bloom's textbook from his bookcase."

She set back against the cushions, her right hand now resting in his left. After chewing over his words for many moments she responded, "Okay. I get it. Alessandro has more than a passing interest in forensic psychology. But Hannibal, I've worked closely with him for months. He's a smart kid, but he's not given to intuitive leaps. And danger or no, it's not in me to…to dispose of him to ensure our own safety."

Hannibal knew that. It was the only reason Alessandro was still alive.

"I'll cease my visits to his apartment," and here his lips turned up in a slight grin, "and I will not _dispose_ of him as you so charmingly put it, not unless he directly threatens us."

It was the best she would get from him, for now at least.

"Thank you." Feeling the weight of the emotions released in the last hour, she knew action would help. "Okay, let's pay Baby Anjelica's mother a visit. Go find out exactly what's on that computer." [D]


	38. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

"Will we be using the same routine as last time, Clarice?"

She considered their options and possible consequences. If they played it the same way as last time, Alessandro might find out again that she'd paid the mother a visit with her psychiatrist, pretending he was with the Questura. Was that acceptable? Would he let it slip by? She doubted it - especially after last night. Was there a good alternative? They could wait for her to leave the house, and sneak in. Or maybe Hannibal could enter alone, and persuade her to allow him access to the computer. Or he could distract her, and give Clarice a shot at the computer.

"No, but I'm not sure what our best shot is."

"You can never tell."

"I know, I know. Just a sec, okay?"

Clarice pondered for a moment, then turned to Hannibal.

"I don't want Alessandro to know we were here like last time."

"Do you want me to go first and let you in after a while?"

"Can you do that?"

Hannibal didn't reply to that, he just looked at her inquiringly.

"Okay, forget I asked," she laughed. "I've got the USB drive, I'm ready." she added.

"Wait one minute, then come to her apartment. I'll open the door as soon as possible," Hannibal said and stepped out of her Musa in a matter-of-fact way that was more appropriate for a person going to do some grocery shopping.

Clarice counted to sixty with her eyes closed. It helped pass the time and it helped her focus on the task ahead. As the last number passed, she opened her eyes, took a good look around and exited the vehicle. With an energetic but not hasty trod she walked over to the decrepit building. She'd dressed as shabby as she could to blend in here, but her features and stance were harder to alter. Luckily, she knew a larger apartment building meant less social control.

The elevator was out so Clarice took the stairs at a moderate speed. After reaching the right floor, she walked through the corridor and found the door to the apartment closed, and it didn't open as she neared. She walked on to the end of the corridor, and looked out of the window to pass time. The cheerless surroundings didn't help improve her worries about today's quest. After sixty more counts, she turned and walked back. Just before she reached the door, it quietly opened an inch or two. Swiftly, she went inside.

Once inside, Clarice could see Hannibal returning to the living room, but indicating with his arm she should proceed into another room. She followed his direction and found the computer they were looking for. From the living room came Hannibal's voice, speaking Italian in a fluent and steady way. Every once in a while she could hear Ms. Tagliabue speak. Her tone was not as decisive as Hannibal's.

Retrieving the USB drive from her trouser pocket, she inserted it and turned the computer on. She watched the screen, then pressed F10. Quickly, she chose the option 'Boot from USB Drive', and waited for Linux to start. A minute later she was able to explore the system's hard disk. She found file Indirizzi within a few seconds with Konqueror and copied its complete folder to her USB drive. After that, she immediately shut down the computer. As she left the room, Hannibal was in the hallway, and he silently led her outside. A quick peek in the living room showed her the mother, seemingly asleep on the couch. [MB]

…

The USB still clasped in her hand, Clarice turned her head to watch Hannibal's profile as he steered them through the narrow streets.

"Is she dead?"

Hannibal sighed. The sound was recrimination enough.

Clarice tried again. "What happened?"

"What happened was we successfully obtained the information we were seeking, and the mother will not be reporting any pesky details to the Questura."

"I never doubt your results, Hannibal."

"Just my methods?" There was amusement in his voice. And something else.

_Damnit, the case was supposed to offer a respite from this topic, not inflame it further._ Clarice dug deep, and with the exception of Alessandro's safety she trusted Hannibal impeccably. Even Carlo Bruno's death had left her feeling more glad than anything else.

"Not even those, Hannibal. I apologize."

He reached across the console and she placed her hand in his. He gave a gentle squeeze and then left his fingers in hers.

"She was on something. I'd hazard a guess of methamphetamines."

Clarice thought back to their earlier interview. She hadn't seen any indicators that the woman was abusing any substances, specifically meth. She didn't have the appearance of a tweaker, no sores on her face or sunken cheeks. No "restless eyes" as she'd come to term them while still in the Bureau. She'd worked with informants that were meth addicts, and many seemed to develop an inability to maintain eye contact. Instead their gaze would travel from object to object in the room. Maybe they were just assessing value, what each item was worth in street value for more drugs.

"Do you think she's only recently a user?"

The question seemed to surprise Hannibal, and he glanced at her.

"It's a possibility. Grief often drives people to substance abuse."

It was true. As much as the woman's neglect of her child sickened Clarice, she was a mother who had lost her child. But that lead to a new thought…

"Grief for her dead daughter, do you think? Or for Bruno?" It didn't matter, she knew it didn't. But if it was the latter, the woman had sunk even more in her estimation. _To take your deadbeat lover's death harder than your own child's?_

"Given the circumstances and the timing, likely Bruno."

"Maybe you shoulda killed her." [D]

.

"Ignazio!" she called from downstairs.

"Hm?"

"What are you doing?" she asked, and started to climb the stairs.

With practiced movements, he left the forum and opened a news site.

"Having a look at the news, dear."

"So, anything I need to know?" she asked. From the time he'd been upstairs already she could tell he had been doing more than that.

"You really want to hear what Berlusconi said this time?" he said as she entered the room.

"Hm, I guess not. Anything else?"

"Nothing you'd find interesting. Juventus won."

He pulled her on his lap. She could feel his prick stiff in his pants.

"How are you feeling?" he said.

"I'm fine," she answered with a smile to cover her unease.

He gently moved his hands over her arms, touched her jaw, moved his hands over her body.

She let him. She didn't want him to feel rejected. She didn't want him to suspect anything was amiss. Or that she _knew_. So she let him. And she kept smiling at him.

His hands softly kneaded her breasts. Her nipples grew hard, a response she could not suppress. He moaned and leaned over to them. He kissed her breasts through the fabric of her blouse. His hands worked. She could feel his lust.

And she knew he had visited _that_ _site_ again and that what he'd seen had aroused him. Now, he'd want some satisfaction. And she knew she'd give it. She would give it so he would not go suspicious. She'd give it to him now to allow her to continue the work of the Lord.

_Lord, I knew you'd help me. I waited, and now I see You have blinded their eyes once more. They're getting hot and anxious again, they're stirring… You shall have them in derision. You shall speak unto them in Your wrath, and vex them in Your sore displeasure!_

_You have shown me this battle is not futile, Lord. I thank Thee. I praise Thee, oh Lord! With your help, and with Your help only, I'll be able to bear the burden and fulfill my purpose, as You have done before. Let me be Your humble and true servant, Lord!_

_Many, o Lord my God, are thy wonderful works which thou hast done, and thy thoughts which are to us-ward: they cannot be reckoned up in order unto thee! If I would declare and speak of them, they are more than can be numbered._

_I must be strong and trust Thee. But I must wait a while more. Yes, I must and will wait. Wait for a sign from Thee, o Lord…_


	39. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

"And?" Clarice asked.

"It's all there," he stated and turned the laptop towards her to show her the document.

"Gotcha!" Clarice exclaimed with a smile from ear to ear.

"Not exactly, but we're getting close."

"Oh, come on, Hannibal. Quit the word games, you know what I mean." [MB]

He leaned into her, playful smile on his lips. "You like my little games, my dear."

She returned his look with a mischievous one of her own and said, "Yeah, given the right time and place. Now is neither." Her tone held no true reprimand though. She leaned her cheek against his, enjoying his solid presence. Dropping her head down, she nuzzled his earlobe and then neck, inhaling deeply. She loved his scent, sandalwood and leather, and something else. He smelled like home.

She was drawing out the moment. They were at the cusp of discovery, and the thrill of victory was euphoric. But beyond that waited her life with Hannibal. This case was a final duty of a life she was shedding. One last step into darkness.

Straightening up, she pulled the laptop towards her and studied the screen.

At first glance the forum was innocuous. There was a deep brown background that reminded her of cherry wood; it felt vaguely masculine, and for some reason brought to mind nineteenth century studies where men would retire for port and cigars. The forum text boxes were a light cream color and the lettering was black and elegant. Members seemed to have a common theme of Greek mythology inspired user names.

Overall rather tasteful, yet somehow mundane.

They could have been a collection of people drawn together in cyberspace discussing hunting, dog breeding, or perhaps even sailing, or any other topic both stuffy and elitist.

Except when Clarice clicked on the attachment provided by Poseidon7243 it opened to reveal a little girl, nude and restrained, her darks eyes staring beseechingly into the camera.

Clarice thought she might throw up.

Taking a measured breath, collecting herself, she turned to Hannibal and said, "That's Adriana Bassi, her body was discovered shortly after I arrived here to Italy." It was the only fresh crime scene Clarice had worked in the case; she still remembered the mother's shiny red toenails and blood encrusted fingernails. Adriana had been four.

Hannibal sensed her distress and knew in this instance it was best to work through it.

"Let's work from the position, at least for the moment, that Poseidon7243 is Damiano Bassi, Adriana's father." Clarice was unsurprised he knew the name; he'd read all of the case files, even that most recent. Perhaps he didn't have a photographic memory, but it was something close. "The user, Ares39," Hannibal scrolled down and pointed at various entries down the screen, "his activity shows a halt in the last week of July before resuming again in early August."

Right. The same week of the death and funeral of Vincente Visconti, the man Clarice had originally thought to be her employer. Now, Hannibal and she knew her benefactor was one of seven male relatives within the family.

"Ares39…" Clarice paused, thinking of the information they had about the Visconti men, "it seems insane that a person would reveal any sort of personal detail, a detail that could lead authorities to someone's identity, but wasn't one of Maria's uncles 39?"

"No, Roberto Visconti is 37." Hannibal's eyes gleamed, "but the patriarch of the family is 67, and would have been born in 1939."

"Maria's grandfather."

"Yes, Sergio Visconti."

"Shit, Hannibal. Why would he put it right there? His date of birth? A secret forum sure, but still exposed." Ares39, Janus Bifrons…the same man.

"It probably irks him, to an extent, to have to hide his proclivities. He's a man of influence and wealth. Yet, he must slink away to dark corners in cyberspace to meet, what to him, are natural urges." She was going to have to give more thought to _that_. "By posting his year of birth, he asserts some measure of dominance over a society that condemns his actions. There's also the element of thrill that even a hint of possible discovery can bring." [D]

"Usually the thrill ends the moment they're actually caught. Discovery is not the goal, it's only a way," Clarice said and on a final note she added "The bastards".

Clarice clicked a few more buttons and studied the information on the screen. Hannibal stopped watching the screen - Clarice could make the connections they were looking for herself - and watched her instead. Eighteen years had made a lot of difference, but her current behavior reminded him so much of the young trainee she had once been. Eager. Focused. Resolute. Though it was nearly impossible for him to see these characteristics without proceeding into further thought about the structures and frameworks of her mind, he kept that deeper level of thought at bay and reveled in her simple pleasure of hunting. It was a feeling they shared. But there was a difference. When he hunted, he was a lion - he hunted to kill. Clarice at this moment was - no matter how silly it sounded - still a cub that played with her prey, not a mature lioness who hunted to kill. In a faraway corner of his mind, a place where only a few wishes resided, he hoped she would share his pride one day.

"Here - ApolloPaean!" Clarice exclaimed, "He hasn't posted anything new since December 2004, which links him to Luigi Gonzaga."

She had to check his last upload to see if it would confirm her idea. She opened the file and Hannibal saw her flinch again. He recognized the little boy as well.

"Do we really need to check any further, Hannibal?"

"The moment we made the connection between Il Medico and an internet forum, I believed it to be true. Do you need any more proof?"

Clarice didn't hesitate long.

"No. It's the forum Bruno browsed and we've matched three out of six.

"Quite so. Will you be sharing this information with the Questura?"

Instead of blurting out an outraged response as had been her style years ago, she truly considered his words. She didn't budge and dug deep into her values for a solid decision. On one hand, she had been hired to get the killer arrested, which matched her style. On the other hand, she'd left the FBI because of its corruption. Her employer had proven to be just as corrupted, and twisted besides.

"I don't know."

_Ah__… __the__mustard__seed__of__doubt__that__was__sown__has__sprouted.__Good._

"This is one sick case, Hannibal," she added as prelude. "I'm not sure. Maybe Alessandro's decision not to follow this lead was out of spite, the others weren't convinced either. And my employer's not happy with the course the case is taking, either."

"And what reasons do you have to remain true to your first principle - get Il Medico behind bars, and not remove her from this earth yourself?"

Clarice gave his question the attention it deserved. She pondered upon it for some time and was shocked to find all the reasons she could think of originated in herself. That these reasons stemmed from her own moral values, the values she had developed mostly as a child under tutelage from her father and - she reluctantly admitted to herself - her mother.

And with a sudden insight, she realized something that shook the foundations of her existence. If we grow up and develop our own adult personalities, why would our moral beliefs have to remain children? Shouldn't they grow and develop too?

Though 'mature' morality had often been disagreeable and sometimes even revolting, there were examples of mature, superior positive morality. There had been people who she knew to be honest and true. Yet, they didn't always follow 'the rules'. They operated in the belief the intention of a law supersedes the letter of the law. They were able to go a step further.

Was the Italian legislative system capable of coping with someone like Il Medico? [MB]

"My mother was once arrested for shoplifting."

Hannibal showed no surprise at the statement. Just waited.

"Daddy had died. She'd been let go from her job working as a maid at the one little hotel our town had. I didn't realize it then, but looking back I think her boss was pressuring her for sexual favors. What kind of manager actually goes into the hotel rooms and 'supervises' a maid? I would help her after school; I remember him hovering. Mama was real pretty." Hannibal looked at Clarice's beautiful face and had no doubts of it.

Clarice was quiet for a moment, her eyes lifted upward in thought and memory. "Well, anyhow. Daddy was gone and he didn't leave anything; no money. Mama was out of work and we lost the house. There was no other family to speak of. We loaded up our truck and headed a town over, and then another, looking for work. We'd sleep in the truck. We ran out of the little bit of money we did have, and in those days you couldn't apply for food stamps unless you had a permanent address. Looking back now, I don't know why she didn't just go to a church or a food bank, but she was so damn proud."

She continued sharing her story with him.

Clarice vividly recalled arriving home with a jacket given to her by the school, before they'd moved the first time. Daddy had just died, and Clarice had hit a growth spurt since the previous winter. She couldn't get her old coat buttoned, and the sleeves stopped four inches from her wrists. The school nurse had spied the poor fitting garment and dug through the lost and found for a better fit. Mama had been livid. She shouted "We don't take charity!" before stripping the garment from her sobbing daughter. She'd walked Clarice back to the school and had made her return it to the incredulous nurse. Clarice still burned with shame when she recalled the pity she'd seen in that woman's eyes.

But apparently thievery was allowed. Mama had been arrested for stealing three cans of Spam and a bag of carrots.

Mama was released after a few hours in country jail.

But it wasn't long after that she'd dropped Clarice off at child welfare.

She recalled her mother with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. And though her mother had only ever committed the one petty crime, Clarice would forever associate her with a certain class of people. A low class, dirty group of people who chose to break rules. Rules people like her daddy had always enforced.

Years later, an adult Clarice could look at the desperation of the situation and feel empathy for her struggling mother. She searched for her, using her connections and resources at the FBI.

Mama had died in single vehicle accident out on a back country road. Apparently there had been some speculation by officials if the crash was deliberate or accidental.

Clarice always hoped the latter, but some part of her believed the former.

Here she stopped speaking, and silence reigned.

Her father, her mother, all in the past.

Just like Hannibal and his sister.

Something akin to shame filled her chest and she said, "It was hard, but I know a lot of folks had it harder." _You had it harder_ was there behind her words, and Hannibal knew it.

"Clarice, our experiences, our tribulations, are not a competition. It means a great deal that you are willing to share these experiences."

She offered him a smile and continued, "I guess what I'm saying is, sometimes rules must be broken in order to reach justice." The children's faces she'd just seen on the screen flashed once more through her mind's eye. They were dealing with a group of active pedophiles as well as a serial killer. The Italian bureaucracy would slow them down, perhaps cost more lives, and the justice it could deliver was questionable. "What are you thinking?" [D]

Hannibal smiled.

"I'm thinking if I should start on that Beef Wellington or on you…" [MB]


	40. Chapter 36

_**Chapter 36**_

Clarice watched Sergio Visconti cross the ornate lobby of the bank, his shiny dress shoes tapping across the marbled floor. His navy blue, double-breasted suit accentuated his silver hair. As he drew closer she could see photographs didn't do his dark blue eyes justice; they were a truly lovely color, shining with intelligence even as they lacked something…empathy? This was a man that had sexually abused his own granddaughter and then shared photographic evidence with others. And those were the activities she knew about. She didn't care to fathom his psyche; Clarice had no desire to 'figure him out.' She just needed him for bait.

Stepping out in front of him, she struck, "Buongiorno, Signore Visconti. It's a pleasure to finally meet my employer face to face." She made no attempt to lower her voice, and at least one teller glanced their direction.

She had to hand it to him, his pretense of ignorance was pretty damn good. His voice held just the right notes of surprised politeness, "Signora, I'm afraid you must have mistaken me for someone else. Though the gentleman that gets to spend the morning in the company of such a beautiful woman is very lucky indeed." With a respectful nod, he continued crossing the lobby. She let him take a few steps, studying the pinstripes down the back of his suit. It was a well made, stylish garment. Hannibal would approve.

Clarice's next words stopped Visconti dead. She had to raise her voice, of course, since he was further away.

"Oh, maybe you would prefer to be called Janus Bifrons. You know, maybe that's not right either. I guess more people know you as Ares."

He turned, a slow, measured movement. This time Clarice had no doubt about what she read in his eyes. [D]

With the same purposeful strides as before, he walked back to Clarice. He replied in a courteous tone that didn't match the glint she'd seen.

"Perhaps it would be better if we spoke in my office?"

He waited for an answer instead of preceding her.

"Sure."

"Please follow me," he said and led the way. They took the elaborate stairs to the second floor. Clarice had seen the elevators and noticed her employer's breathing. She smiled inwardly at his cheap attempt to awe her with the splendor of his bank.

"Celeste, ho un visitatore. Io voglio tu per portare due tazze di caffè, per favore?"

Visconti opened the door to his office for her. Clarice entered and he left the door ajar. He led Clarice to the desk and asked her to take a seat, holding the chair back for her. He was as courteous as older Italian men can be. He then walked slowly around the grand piece of furniture that served as his desk and seated himself in his own luxurious desk chair.

"Celeste will bring us some coffee in a minute. I think our business can wait until she's back," he said as statement, not a question. Clarice simply nodded.

Not much time later, his PA entered the room. She put the tray on the desk, left the room in silence and closed the door behind her.

"When I hired you, I knew you were one of the best. But I had hoped you'd remain focused on the case and not on my identity. I consider it a breach of trust."

"It would be if the two were separate things. But they aren't."

Clarice could read the growing irritation from his countenance.

"I was and am not interested in your person or your private life. I have kept our agreement, I did not investigate beyond the borders of the case, though the breakthrough came from one of our chat sessions."

Clarice had decided before this confrontation she wouldn't elaborate on that.

" But, if catching Maria's killer is still your goal, there's a bigger problem than me knowing your name. I'm sure you know the Questura dismissed my idea of pedophiliac family members."

Clarice could see him frown his brow in a most angry way at her last words. She didn't care, though. She had to continue, and convince him to cooperate if they were to catch the killer.

"I found out about the forum, and I have access to it. The forum where you are known as Ares39 is the key to the killer. She has access to the forum and finds her victims there. We can still go with the Questura, and post officers at each and every church and hope to spot the woman, or we can proceed on our own and find her through the forum."

_That's __how __it __is, __you __sicko. __Now __make __up __your __damn __mind._

Clarice was sure he would concede. Playing her trump card would not be necessary: she had decided she would hunt down the killer anyway, she had agreed with Hannibal to that. They didn't need this freak, but it would make things a lot easier.

Clarice leaned forward, stopped looking at the man to stir her coffee though she took it black, and lifted the cup and saucer. She sat back and started to take a careful sip of the hot, delightful liquid. The coffee alone could be reason enough for Clarice to move to Italy.

Outside, the afternoon sun shone upon the houses on the other side of the street. The shadows crawled their way up the walls towards the roof gutters. It was a peaceful sight. It was in sharp contrast with the deal she was making with the devil.

"Are you sure you don't need the Questura?" he asked, "And what happens when you catch her and turn her in? If she starts talking, I'm history."

"I don't need the Questura. I do need your help. As to what happens when she's caught red handed and arrested - the only link to you would be her word and the forum. You've always wanted her alive and arrested, let's keep it that way." Here, Clarice looked her employer dead in the eye. "Her word won't mean a thing if there's no forum. Once she's caught, the forum will be discontinued and deleted. But we need the forum right now to catch her. That's where I need your help."

Visconti considered for a brief moment.

"Okay. What do I do?" he spoke with his eyes fixed on Clarice. [MB]

Clarice stood and reached across the colossal desk. She passed him a small, folded sheet of paper and tried not to shudder when his fingertips grazed hers. He hadn't done it intentionally, she could tell, but she felt contaminated nonetheless.

"Post that on the forum this afternoon; it'll draw her out."

He opened the slip and read it twice before lifting his head in protest, "Ms. Starling, I am not a religious man, and I would never…"

She cut him off, impatient. She was ready to leave this too shiny office that served as this monster's lair. Her voice was sharp, and she wielded it boldly, "_Obviously_ you're not a religious person, Signore Visconti," for a myriad of reasons, all that she left hanging there in the air between them, hovering and present, "but the killer is. This will be too much for her to bear. She'll come."

He swallowed thickly and nodded. A sheen of sweat had erupted on his forehead and he did not appear well. It seemed realization had dawned.

"I lead the killer right to her."

"Yes. Yes you did." He'd garner no sympathy from her. "You'll post it later today?"

"Si, si. Yes."

"Very good, Signore Visconti. I'll keep you informed of progress, of course."

She started to escort herself out of the office, but turned back at the last moment. She went to him and leaned down, whispering low in his ear. Satisfied that her soft words elicited the softest gasp of shock, she stood, leaving her employer dazed on his plush chair. Rather than Ares, he reminded her of Midas. A ruined king sitting on his cold throne. [D]

**A/N~ Thank you, LovingHannibal, for once again checking our Italian :o) **


	41. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

"Clarice, you got a minute?"

"Sure, Alessandro," Clarice answered, "Just a sec."

She finished her scan of the Shrine's walls and the pictures attached before turning. That they'd decided not to follow Clarice's hunch made her job here… boring. There was no other word for it. They checked and double checked every bit of information they had, had asked for extra manpower to search and post churches knowing they'd never get it - and didn't, and not a single drop or even hint of a fresh lead was found. Clarice pretended to be as useful as possible, doing her job as required, but the spark was missing for her. The hunt she'd started with Hannibal had her heart, and with reason.

Alessandro led her to his office. He motioned her to have a seat.

"This case is insane," he stated, his head in his hands, looking out the window.

Clarice merely nodded. He had asked for her, after all. Let him do the talking.

"I'm not saying you're doing anything wrong, but I would have guessed your employer would be bored by the lack of progress. You're lucky he's willing to keep the job going. And we're lucky to still have you around, your contribution has been… significant. And if there was something, a lead, I'm sure you'd find it."

He sighed.

"I just wish we could find her, arrest her, and close the case."

"Yeah," Clarice replied.

"We ask for extra manpower and they tell us to post the churches ourselves. As long as there's no new clue, that is."

He looked at Clarice now.

"I still don't like the idea, but what if we gave your idea a second thought? Then we would have _something to do_, and receive the manpower requested."

Clarice had to swallow hard. She understood exactly what he meant. They wouldn't be truly investigating the lead, but it would be a risk for her and Hannibal, for the plan they'd devised and for the identity of her employer. It was a risk she wasn't prepared to take. He believed it was an opportunity without risk, how the hell could she talk him out of it?

"Even if you want to use it as a mere clothes hanger in your plan for extra personnel, you'll need to show it has some credibility. You, the chief investigator, weren't convinced when I first mentioned it. And, to be honest, I _did_ follow the lead."

Alessandro raised an eyebrow at that.

"I'm not Questura, remember? I work for my employer. You and I share information, but I remain authorized to follow a lead you dismissed. Anyway, I don't think we should use my idea. It would not help the case."

Alessandro grunted, but Clarice quickly continued to head him off.

"All we have to do is come up with something else that's credible enough."

His somber stare soon evaporated and she was rewarded with a smile.

"Okay," he said, "Any suggestions?" [MB]

"If I had any do you think I'd be sitting here twiddling my thumbs?" There was an edge to her voice, subtle, but present. His smile faded. A few months ago that would have bothered her.

She didn't rush to fill the ensuing silence; instead she studied his features for a moment. There were purple smudges under his bloodshot eyes.

After a moment he dropped his gaze and raised his fists to rub his tired eyes. "Look, I'm just frustrated. I know you're doing the best you can."

"How are you doing Alessandro?" She didn't bring up his upset the last time they'd interacted. It was a very delicate subject. She was also exercising caution because she was aware of the emotional barrier he'd constructed between them. She was hoping that meant things were getting more involved with Chiara. It really would be for the best.

"Not good. Chiara and I had a blow up last night." _Shit._ Clarice was also surprised he would confide such a thing to her.

"What happened?"

"She wanted me to have dinner with her and her grandfather. Remember him? The priest."

"Yeah. So what's the problem? I'm not an expert on this, but isn't meeting the family normally a good sign?"

There was a pained expression on his face. "Yes. But that's the problem. We're only just back together. And the last time, well, we weren't exactly together…"

"Uh huh." Clarice could read between the lines, had enjoyed similar arrangements with men over the years. It was only now, with Hannibal in her life, that she could look back on them and fathom the true emptiness of the encounters. She was glad she could reflect on her time with Alessandro with fondness. At least there had been friendship between them. Was still between them to an extent. "So, like a jackass, you freaked out. What'd you do?"

"I asked her why she would want to have dinner with a man that would condemn us to hell for our sin of fornication."

Clarice rested her forehead in her two open palms for a minute and wished, rather whimsically, for Ardelia's presence. Her friend could set him straight with a few choice words. Unfortunately relationship advice wasn't Clarice's strong suit, especially when doling it out to ex lovers. She'd do her best though.

"You've gotta say sorry."

She glanced at him and saw the stubborn set to his mouth.

"You've gotta say sorry, or that'll be it. She's ready to take it to the next level. And you either are or you aren't. But you need to be honest with her and tell her which one it is."

She left the Shrine shortly after. She wished Alessandro well, but she was also relieved he'd been distracted, at least temporarily, from the Il Medico case. [D]

.

"And?" Clarice asked as she entered the living room and saw the laptop powered on. Hannibal, being the gentleman he was, had left it when he heard her coming to greet her.

She knew he monitored the forum and was dying to know if there was any news. Not from the murderess, naturally. She merely visited and watched the forum. But perhaps other members had added their comments to her employer's 'plan' and would infuriate her more.

Hannibal had seen her glimpse at the computer.

"A few have responded as expected. I'm positive our target will feel… ill at ease when she reads these contributions."

"I bet. Are you sure the girl will be fine until her first communion?"

"Absolutely. Our transgressor has got the time to wait and from what we know of her religious frame of mind, she would never withhold the girl her first communion."

"Which gives us less than three weeks time to prepare our trap," Clarice stated.

Hannibal noticed the change in her voice. Her mind had proceeded to the next train of thought, he perceived and waited for it to finish. It wasn't long.

"I'll tell Alessandro I'll be off the case for a while, starting the Monday after Communion. A holiday or such. I don't want them to trouble me that week. Do you think she'll act that fast?"

"It all depends on what our culprit expects. If grampa appoints a date for his friends on the forum to expect an update, she'll have do act at least a few days before that date. I believe a promise for one-and-a-half weeks after the Communion would be best. She'll be there before the week is over."

"I'll tell Visconti soon," Clarice said, "I'll explain to him it's essential the girl nor her family know. Things should remain exactly as they are now, our friend will be watching them. We'll be watching for her that week." [MB]

Clarice Starling's mind wandered once more. Never in all of her years in law enforcement had she considered using an innocent as bait. Now she not only considered it, but planned it. Would do it. And she did it without any clinging tendrils of guilt.

She trusted Hannibal's analysis of the situation.

Trusted her own gut.

The girl was safe, for now. At least from Il Medico.

A cruel smile stretched her lips. The child was safe from her grandfather as well, after the threat, no, the promise Clarice had delivered to him in his office.

Intrigued by her countenance, by the distant look in her stormy eyes coupled with the glints of light bouncing off of her straight, sharp canines, Hannibal Lecter wished very much to penetrate the depths of her mind and to travel along with her on the path her thoughts traversed.

Instead he waited. Patient. Captivated.

After many moments Clarice returned to him and he lifted his hand to the back of her silky neck. Pulling her in for a kiss, she was still the one to initiate the meeting of lips.

A playful nip. Then two. A gentle lick along the seam of still closed lips.

Then they were both done with teasing. [D]


	42. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

Early the next morning Clarice left a message at the Questura for Alessandro she wouldn't be in that day, closed her eyes and dozed off again, her left arm loosely wrapped around Hannibal's chest as he lay on his back besides her, awake from her voice but enjoying the warmth of the luxurious bed. Clarice having a wealthy employer sure had its advantages.

As Hannibal lay motionless beside his woman, he refrained from pondering or planning and instead focused on his senses, savoring the moment. From close by, he heard Clarice's soft breathing and smelled a myriad of scents. Some were the remnants of a night of passionate love making, others less interesting like the smell of fabric softener. He kept his eyes closed. It helped him focus. Some smells helped him remember more detail of what happened last night. Her call could very well be a sign of more, or she would want to prepare for their task ahead. Either would be fine with him, though he preferred the former. He smiled at the thought.

From farther away came the sound of birds calling and the smell of late blooming flowers, unfortunately accompanied by the smell of their cars. Which reminded him he should be off at half past nine, since Saveria would be here today for cleaning. He turned his head and saw they still had two hours to go. It'll do, he thought mischievously and slowly traced a finger along her skin forming countless infinity signs, and felt goose bumps arise.

.

"Alessandro?"

"Hm?" he grunted, only half awake.

"Alessandro?" Chiara persisted. She watched him to see if he would wake. When he didn't, she prodded him with her index finger.

"Wake up."

"What?" he said, eyes half open now, barely awake. "What is it?"

"Are you still mad at me?"

"What - mad? No. Well, for waking me, perhaps."

"I mean, for inviting you to dinner with my grampa?"

Alessandro blinked a few times to get his eyes to focus and to wake up.

"No, I'm not angry anymore. But we talked about that, didn't we?"

"We did. I just wanted to be sure."

"I apologized for my outburst and we talked about it. It's fine, really."

Chiara smiled at him and nodded her head. Then she rested it on his chest. After a few seconds she felt his fingers going through her hair and she smiled. So it was fine, just like he said.

"Too bad it wouldn't do if we both called in sick today," she said. [MB]

"Says who?"

"Well, it wouldn't look right."

His response was a single arched eyebrow and a smirk. A very sexy smirk, she'd give him that. After a few moments of a silent staring contest she erupted in giggles and reached for her phone. "Fine!"

.

Clarice pulled herself up on the bathroom counter, her feet dangling above the heated tile. When she'd first moved into the home she thought the flooring nearly gaudy in its excessive luxury. Now she planned to have some installed after she and Hannibal relocated.

Arms braced just behind her for balance, palms down on the cool granite top, she leaned back and studied her lover as he went about getting ready for the day.

He wasn't exactly handsome.

His features lacked the symmetry that such a term implied. Perhaps it had been there at one time, before slight alterations by plastic surgery had been necessary for disguise.

Also, his age was evident on his face, in the grooves around his eyes and mouth.

But he was utterly compelling, at least to her.

His face and body were pleasing. Color rising, she flashed back to earlier in the morning as well as the previous evening. More than pleasing…

Her attraction to him transcended anything physical.

Hannibal ran the straight razor up and down the leather strop, creating a pleasant whisking sound that indicated the blade was being properly honed. Though he appeared fully engaged in the task, he noted Clarice's blush through his peripheral vision.

The right strap of her silk chemise had fallen, fully baring one rosy shoulder. The soft pink was a lovely contrast to the midnight blue of the garment.

He made himself complete his task, four more measured strokes, and then he turned and carefully sat the blade on the counter before going to her.

There was the softest of smiles on her face. She'd been aware of his attention.

"You're a hopeless tease, my love." His voice came out rather raspy. He placed his palms on her knees and with gentle pressure pushed them apart, creating a niche for himself. Pressed against her, he bent down and placed a kiss above her breasts before laying is head on the exposed shoulder.

He'd yet to shave, thanks to the distraction of her, and he sought his revenge by lightly running his stubbled cheek back and forth across the sensitive skin.

Laughter bubbled up from her and she replied, "Naw. That's not true. I'm a flirt, not a tease. A tease never puts out."

A snort of laughter escaped him even as he cringed at the coarse phrase. [D]

.

Finding his fridge filled with groceries his maid bought him yesterday, Chiara started preparing them a solid brunch. Alessandro was still showering. When he turned the water off, she turned on the electric kettle. Chiara smiled as she set the table. When the water boiled, she poured herself a good mug of tea, knowing it would cool down to a drinkable temperature while waiting for Alessandro. The espresso machine was ready to go.

Chiara took a look around the place. She was already quite familiar with it; they had been together before. She admitted to herself she'd been jealous of Clarice. Chiara would make it work this time.

"Alessandro! Are you done yet?"

"Yeah, I'm coming," he called from the bedroom.

Alessandro walked over to Chiara and smiled at her. With a sleek movement of his right arm, he worked his hair out of his face. Then he leaned over and kissed Chiara. As he pulled back, his eyes noted the fresh mug of coffee and he smiled even more. The impossible dimple in his left cheek appeared again.

"Excellent!" he stated and gave Chiara a wink. The young woman beamed with pride and joy. They were together again. This lean, muscled, six feet tall, utterly compelling brown eyed man was hers again.

They sat down at the small table and Alessandro inspected it. Chiara had done a wonderful job, he admitted. He gave her a genuine smile of appreciation. Chiara beamed with joy as he did. Today would be a day to remember. She watched Alessandro take a careful sip of his coffee. She tried her tea and found it had cooled enough.

_Life should always be like this, _she mused. _No worries about work or money. Just to be with the one you love._

"I've always liked the way the sun brightens your house," she said.

"When I was looking for a place to buy, I visited this one early morning, before going to work. It was late summer, just like now. The previous owner opened the door and I knew I had to own this house from the way the sun reflected on the tiles. It's like walking in the Piazza del Duomo and looking at the Santa Maria."

Alessandro turned to look at the living room.

"Later, she told me she'd used the same shade of tiles as the Piazza on purpose, to imitate it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She was a true Milanese, like me. And very proud. Couldn't get her to lower the price."

"When was this?"

"Maybe a month after I started at the Questura, so three months before you got there."

Chiara nodded and took another bite of her bun.

In the distance, they could hear Alessandro's cell phone ringing.

"It's the office ringtone," Alessandro spoke and rose to get the call. He frowned, wondering why they called. He retrieved his phone from the bedroom.

"Si?"

"Grigoris here. I'm sorry to disturb you, but a woman was apprehended." [MB]


	43. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

The Visconti family's wealth and influence were blatantly apparent in the well dressed crowd that packed the hotel ballroom directly following the First Holy Communion of Sergio Visconti's remaining granddaughter.

Clarice had sat in a back pew of the cathedral, watching as Elena Visconti and half a dozen other children moved forward to accept the Eucharist. The girls were dressed in layered white frocks with lacy veils trailing down their hair. The boys were in suits, some white and some not. The ritual of the setting inspired a variety of thoughts for Clarice. If white was purity, and here it surely was, then it had already been established for these children that males need not be pure, but females, always. It also occurred to her that she'd yet to discuss communion with Hannibal, as a philosophical topic. His spin on the huddled masses taking in the Body of Christ would surely be…fascinating.

Knowing neither train of thought was helpful to her purpose here, she had willed them away, placing her full focus on scanning the crowd. Il Medico could very well be here; was likely here.

After the completion of the ritual, she'd discreetly followed the Visconti party to the reserved ballroom down the block.

Sunlight poured in through large, ornate windows and reflected off the many crystal chandeliers hanging from the arched ceiling. Clarice watched bits of light dance around Elena's face as she accepted congratulations from a long line of well wishers.

The child was strangely solemn, given the occasion and festive atmosphere. Yet even from the distance it was clear her manners were impeccable.

She'd lost her sister two years ago, such an event cast a long shadow. Maria had been eight, Elena would have been six at the time. Old enough to remember a sisterly relationship.

Who else studied the child?

Unobtrusively scanning the room, Sergio Visconti caught her eye for a moment. He tipped his head, a subtle greeting. Clarice ignored him.

Hannibal was also here, but she didn't look his way.

They'd come separately. She didn't wish for Visconti to see them together. Even if he never guessed at Hannibal's identity, he would assume, correctly, Hannibal was someone important to her. Someone to use as leverage to get back a little of his own.

Visconti had been in shock when she'd left him. He'd been helpless then. But recovered, she believed him capable of anything. Especially after her parting words she'd left him with. It killed her to know the bastard would remain free for now, despite his crimes, with full access to his other grandchild. Clarice hadn't threatened him, but made a very clear promise of what she would do to him if he dared touch the child. [D]

Therefore Clarice had been extremely vigilant the last two and a half weeks, but so far nothing had happened. She'd even checked the house for listening devices or cameras and the car for tracking devices, but found none. It hadn't eased her mind completely, though.

Recalling that period of time made her smile as well - the Questura had blundered big time with the arrest they'd made. The woman had been apprehended by one of the new guys on the team, who turned out to be overenthusiastic and wanted to make an impression. Well, he'd succeeded on the last part - it had been quite a show. He had ignored the profile that clearly stated Il Medico wouldn't be much of a risk in real life and he'd drawn his gun and pointed it at the woman, yelling at her to "get on the fucking floor," instead of getting her alone and making a simple and clean arrest.

Best of all: it happened while a service was in progress. A stampede of churchgoers, clergymen and choirboys followed.

Then he'd called for backup instead of taking her in himself.

At the Questura, since both Alessandro and Chiara had called in sick and Gregoris was in a meeting, Paolo had been the one to be confronted with the hyperactive ass bringing in the woman, with the press tagging along. Clarice had to admit Paolo had handled the press well. The first thing he took care of was getting rid of the multitude of journalists and cameramen from the lobby, successfully claiming every able person around to aid him. But the news spread like smallpox did in the 18th century and the press swarmed the Via Fatebenefratelli.

But after that initial success, Paolo screwed up also. He didn't inform Gregoris, believing the meeting was of greater importance, and he didn't call Alessandro or Chiara, knowing they'd called in sick. He had the woman put in a cell and talked to the cowboy who'd arrested her instead. And he, in the fire of the moment, had kept Paolo busy until Gregoris returned from the meeting.

As soon as the older Ispettore saw what was going on, he scolded Paolo and took over the proceedings. The first thing he did was call Alessandro, then he had the woman transferred to an interrogation room. He had hardly got his things together to question her, when Alessandro and Chiara arrived. Alessandro instructed Chiara first what had to be done, then he took Gregoris with him to question the woman.

And when they did, it didn't take them long to see they were screwed big time.

Clarice looked around the room and saw Maria's mother, hugging her remaining daughter Elena and probably telling her how proud she was of her, telling the child her father would have been proud of her too. Of all people, they had to arrest the mother of one of Il Medico's victims, member of an influential family, daughter-in-law of her employer, a curious mother who had wanted to have a look at the place where a vial of her child's blood had been found… [MB]

Clarice's gaze continued covertly traveling the room until her eyes picked up the stillness of one particular woman. She was short but with the curvaceous figure many men would appreciate, with dark skin and hair, she was perhaps mid-thirties. There was an air of isolation about her, and like Elena, none could tell from her expression that she attended a celebration. Through her peripheral vision, Clarice could see the woman's stare was fixated on some distant point. Subtly turning, she followed the woman's line of sight until she encountered…. Sergio Visconti.

Of course! Why would Il Medico be preoccupied with Elena? Her true agenda lay in freeing the children from their _tormentors_.

_Why hadn't she just gone after them?_

_A half-dozen dead pedophiles, and the world's a better place._

Even a year ago Clarice would have reprimanded herself for such vigilante thoughts. _There was a system in place for a reason!_ But no longer. The thoughts were simply truths.

_Are you a coward Il Medico? _

_Are children simply easier to deal with?_

Clarice thought not.

The crime scenes the killer left behind were meticulous. Neat. Controlled.

Il Medico risked discovery in the additional time she took to arrange each scene just so.

No. She was driven by something else. By her beliefs.

Was the world really hell to her that she thought the pedophilic monsters deserved to remain in it? Or were her hopes for heaven so great?

Clarice watched the woman watching Visconti. Wondered what level she was willing to take it to, to prevent a newly baptized child's purity from being sullied. Unfortunately the woman was nearly as far away from Clarice as she could possibly be in the ballroom.

She crossed the room, making a jagged path towards the suspect, weaving in and out so as not to be too apparent. A man jostled her shoulder, and he turned around, offering his apologies in Italian. He was young and cute and knew it, drunkenly offering Clarice a drink. Irritated, she waved him away and continued on. Halfway to her destination, Clarice saw the fine cut of Hannibal's suit. Of course he was right next to the suspect.

He'd likely spotted her within moments of arriving here. Hell, he'd probably made her back at the church.

He was speaking to her, and she was smiling politely back and murmuring a response.

It occurred to Clarice she'd never witnessed two serial killers having a conversation.

The thought fired through her brain as she approached the pair. [D]

As she closed in on the two, she noticed Hannibal taking his leave. The next moment he turned and while he did, he rested his knowing eyes on Clarice for an infinitesimal amount of time.

_Shit and double shit._

Clarice slowly advanced towards the woman nevertheless, to avoid suspicion. Her mind was racing. If this wasn't Il Medico, then who was she? But before Clarice could reach her and find out, the woman downed her glass of wine and left.

Trusting Hannibal, Clarice sighed and didn't pursue the woman. She turned to take another look at the crowd, but the zeal was gone. If Il Medico had been here, they should have spotted her by now.

.

"Who was she?" she inquired immediately after he'd gotten in the car.

"Not Il Medico, though her physiology matches."

Clarice looked sternly at him.

"Cut the crap, Hannibal. Who was she? She was eying Visconti like… hell, I don't know!"

"Please, Clarice, no need to get angry. You trusted my judgment there, trust me now too," he said soothingly.

To her own genuine surprise, she did calm down.

"For the sake of her privacy," Hannibal continued, "A simple _It's not her_ had my preference, but since you insist: she's one of Sergio Visconti's daughters."

Hannibal let his words find their mark.

Clarice was driving, but the meaning of his words hit her almost immediately.

"You mean… he abused her too when she was a child?"

"Yes."

Clarice cursed and her jaw set. It took a few moments before she spoke again.

"How do you know?"

"The way she watched him instead of Elena, some body language while we spoke and the answers she provided to some of my questions," he simply said. "As I said: trust me. I'm sure of it. And she's not Il Medico."

Clarice grumbled.

"Well, it was a long shot to expect her here, but not completely improbable. We'll watch the girl as planned then."

"She'll be fine, Clarice. We've made sure she won't be alone during the day, and we'll be there at night."

"I know. I just want that crazy woman to stop."

Hannibal was about to ask how she was planning to stop her, but thought better of it.

_Later, Clarice. Not now, but I'll want your decision this evening. Are you going to arrest her, or stop her permanently?_

"It is highly doubtful tonight's going to be the night, but we'll be there, Clarice. We'll be there." [MB]


	44. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

Clarice Starling stood in Milan's fading light, lashes casting spiked shadows across her cheek, and what a stranger might call "smile lines" etched around her mouth. Those few souls that really knew her could explain that they were from years of her pursed lip look of determination. Starling was 43, looked her age, and made that age look damn good.

Nearly night now; the better to stalk her prey.

Her prey that even now stalked a child.

.

Elena Visconti's nanny followed a strict routine with the child. It was Friday, which meant after school Elena had attended ballet class, returned home for dinner, and then spent an additional hour practicing violin. There would be a bath and then bedtime prayers; Elena's mother would join her. The pair would devoutly kneel, rosary beads in hand.

And then Elena would be left alone in her room, to fall into a much deserved slumber.

After Maria's death, the family had installed a state-of-the-art security system.

Still, the parents fretted.

The loss of her eldest child still stinging, Celia Visconti had nearly collapsed under the additional grief of losing her husband so unexpectedly.

But she still had Elena.

And most evenings found her standing vigilant outside her daughter's door, bloodshot eyes heavy with fatigue and anxiety.

She couldn't go to her; Elena needed as much normalcy as possible. She would only pick up her mother's worry, and the child had enough of her own.

Thank God for her father-in-law.

He had stayed late after dinner one evening and realized her plight.

He'd volunteered to stand guard so she could get a decent night's sleep.

Surprisingly, it worked.

It wasn't that she didn't trust the nanny or the security guards, but Sergio was blood. He would do whatever it took to keep Elena safe.

He was due tonight. He'd been quite forceful that she had to take better care of herself, that she needed rest.

Thank God for that man. [D]

If he hadn't been there, everything would have been so different. He'd been there before, too, to babysit or just keeping them company. But now, with everything that happened to his and her family, he was even more supportive than ever.

Celia walked down the stairs, went to the parlor and poured herself a Marsala. She took a seat on the Arflex couch and waited. From time to time, she listened for any unusual sounds, but heard none. She'd be much more relieved if grampa was there.

She rose and checked the part of the security system that monitored the windows on the second floor. To her relief, it was turned on and there was no sign of trouble. She headed back to the parlor when she heard the doorbell ring.

.

Clarice now sat in the back of the hired van and alternately looked out the window at the house and at the two monitors. She'd placed one camera farther down the Via Prospero Finzi as it ran north, and one as it ran west along the canal.

Clarice doubted Il Medico would use the same route to enter the house again. The woman was crazy, not stupid. Taking the road next to the canal would prevent her from being seen, but she might consider taking another route this time and another way to get into the house.

The woman was careful. Clarice hoped the limited time they'd given her to prepare would make her err somewhere.

Clarice was glad Hannibal was out there somewhere, watching the house and the surroundings with her.

.

She'd spent almost every available minute trying to think of a new way to enter that house for the second time.

Coming from the west would be foolish to do again.

Coming from the north would mean walking by a lot of apartment buildings. It had been unwise the last time, it would be unwise now.

The house was flanked on the east side by another apartment building. Lowering herself from its roof might be possible, but would expose her and she didn't look forward to such Alpinism.

It wouldn't do to climb the gate again, she'd seen the barbed wire they'd recently attached on top of it.

Climbing onto the balcony above the front door was never an option.

And then, after many disturbed days, thinking how to get in and save that girl, she had a revelation while she had another look at the city map.

She'd use a boat to get to the little balcony hanging over the water on the first floor.

. [MB]

Sergio Visconti embraced his daughter-in-law, noting the exhaustion evident in her eyes. Still, she held herself up, posture perfect.

His son had done well in choosing her. She was an asset to the Visconti lineage.

Pulling back, he offered her a wide smile meant to encourage and reached for the delicate cup and saucer sitting on the kitchen island. Steam wafted up from the hot liquid and a floral bouquet reached their nostrils.

Handing her the drink, he stated, "Celia, my dear, you must rest. Elena needs you strong and healthy." Hurt flashed across her features before she could contain it, but quickly recovering, she offered him a close-lipped smile and a nod.

"You're right, Sergio. Absolutely right," and then lifted the cup to her lips. If she detected the slightest acrid aftertaste, she disregarded it. Sergio had selected the brew himself two weeks ago from a tea shop in Milan, and his taste was impeccable. He'd described the lavender white tea concoction as the finest herbal remedy available to bring tranquility. If it meant a good night's sleep, she'd drink the muck. And it would please Sergio.

.

Sergio carried his daughter-in-law to her room, pausing outside of Elena's room to listen for several moments. Like the child's mother, he worried for her despite Starling's surveillance outside. But Celia's weight pulled at his arms, so he continued down the hallway. The drug had hit her more quickly tonight. She likely hadn't eaten well that day.

Depositing her on her plush bed, he absently pulled the duvet over her prone body before quickly exiting the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

He knew from previous evenings she would be out fully until the morning.

.

Something wasn't right.

The monitors showed little activity; an occasional vehicle passed.

The house was dark.

Something wasn't right though.

The slightest niggling clawed at Clarice's gut.

When she was a kid she'd once stumbled upon a killdeer nest. The birds laid their eggs on the ground; speckled gray eggs that blended impeccably with the surrounding gravel. Somehow though, that day her eyes had spied the perfect ovals and known them for what they were. She'd stared at them for a long time, but gradually became aware of an unease. Something pressed at her. Then, from the undergrowth of a nearby bush, another form emerged from nature's browns and greens. A ratsnake lay there, his tongue sipping at the air. Eventually he moved towards the eggs; his brown camouflage no longer effective against the gray stones. With horrified fascination she'd watched him stretch his jaw out and consume one of the eggs.

She felt that same unease pressing at her now.

Breaking radio silence, she spoke her intentions to Hannibal.

"I need to get closer." [D]

Clarice took a last look outside and at the monitors before carefully exiting the van, trying to make as little noise as possible. She didn't close the van door but let it hang against the lock.

She looked around and found everything silent. Her right hand close to the gun hidden beneath her jacket, she started to move. She crossed the road after a look to the north. Seeing nothing, she walked directly next to the high wall in the direction of the canal. Taking as much cover as the vegetation allowed, she slowly proceeded.

When she'd come as far as the gate Il Medico had used previous time, she heard Hannibal's voice calling her softly.

"Wait…"

She stopped and looked up. He was standing on the edge of the wall, hidden between some bushes. He jumped down in a fluent movement. He barely made a sound as his feet touched the ground.

"Something isn't right," she whispered as her eyes took in her surroundings, "I needed to have a look."

He nodded before answering.

"Okay," he whispered, "I'll go with you."

They started off together, all eyes and ears, towards the canal. When they reached the railing, Clarice checked their camera, even though it had worked perfectly so far. Hannibal looked around, until he suddenly grasped her by the arm and motioned her to be quiet.

Clarice followed his gaze, but couldn't see anything. After a few moments, Hannibal suddenly leaned in and started to whisper in her left ear.

"The reflection in the second window to the left of the door."

Clarice had to look twice before she saw it.

A small rowing boat at the balcony that hung directly over the water on the first floor.

Il Medico had found a point of entry they had overlooked.

"Dammit!" Clarice swore under her breath, fighting the rush of adrenalin, "let's go!"

She took off for the front door, silently on her sneakers, with Hannibal right behind her. [MB]


	45. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

The small rowing boat, easily stolen from a house some distance upstream, gently flowed downstream on the canal. She didn't need to paddle much. A few pushes here and there to avoid hitting something was all she needed to do, which suited her just fine. Rowing a boat was tiresome.

She could see the Hand of God in her work. Everything went as smooth as always. Tonight, another child would be saved from the beasts. Tonight, another child would go to Heaven. She'd make sure of that.

The first time she'd read that miserable, sick, sinning Ares' announcement, she'd been devastated. How could any man possibly be so sick to think of abusing a child who'd just had her First Holy Communion? It enraged her beyond anything she'd ever felt regarding those animals. And she knew this girl had to be saved as soon as possible. She knew how little time she had, Ares had bragged and given a date he'd upload. He'd wait until after Communion, and so would she - how could she not allow that girl that privilege?

She was approaching the house slowly. The current of the canal wasn't fast, but it was steady. She felt invigorated by the prospect of helping that little girl and full of energy, happy she needn't row. There it was. Exactly as she remembered. Last time had been easy, climbing the gate, but she didn't trust using that same route and technique. The idea of using the canal had been truly inspired.

She approached the balcony carefully, avoiding making any noise. She tied the boat to the balcony, took her bag and gently climbed over the railing. She kept silent and vigilant for a minute or two.

Nothing.

She retrieved the glass cutter and suction cup from her bag. Placing the cup against the glass, she gave its head a twist until it was locked in place. Then she attached the glass cutter and started to make circles.

It took only half a minute to cut it. A gentle push with her hand loosened the circle of glass; she removed it with extreme care and placed it on the balcony. The hole was large enough for her to crawl through, but if she could avoid that, she would. She poked her head through the hole and noticed the Reed switch. She'd climb in then. [MB]

.

Sergio was in the kitchen preparing a cup of coffee. The hour was late for such an indulgence, but he needed to stay alert. Returning to his post, steaming mug in hand, a sense of surreal dread washed through him as he saw Elena's bedroom door ajar.

He'd left it closed. He knew he had.

Nearly running now, he wasn't aware of the anguished cry slipping through his lips.

_No. No, no, no. Not Elena too…_

He burst through the slightly opened door to see a woman bent over Elena.

She turned, startled at the intrusion, and through the sparse light slipping through the shades he saw some sort of herb clutched in her hand. She'd been force-feeding it to Elena.

The leaves fluttered to the mahogany floorboards and a knife emerged in her grasp.

Weapon extended before her, she charged him.

Sergio Visconti was a man unaccustomed to violence. Shock kept him in place for valuable seconds.

In the last moment before her body collided with his, something awoke in him. He flung the scalding coffee into his assailant's face and sidestepped her knife.

She screamed in agony even as the blade in her fist grazed his side instead of sinking into his chest.

She dropped the weapon and held her blistering face in her palms, shrieks of pain escaping her.

Acting without thought, Sergio picked up the knife that was sticky with his own blood, and approached the woman who was half kneeling on the floor.

He raised it high above her and then stabbed it into her back until only the hilt protruded.

Disregarding the strange wetness spreading across his shirt, he pulled away from Il Medico's corpse and approached Elena with a broken sob.

Clarice found him there in the child's bed, rocking Elena's prone body, great cries wracking his body. [D]

"Hannibal!" she cried, unaware he already was close behind her. They rushed forward. Clarice tried to pull Sergio away from the little girl, he resisted but gave up soon. The wound Il Medico had left him with was getting more painful by the minute. Clarice guided him to the hallway.

Hannibal took care of Elena.

She was still breathing. Knowing Il Medico's MO, he checked for signs of poisoning but found none. The oleander was only administered shortly before, he reasoned. He put his index finger in her throat and induced the girl to vomit. That would do the trick most probably. Charcoal was something he could give her later on. There was a fireplace two rooms down the hallway. He'd seen it on the way over here, its fire had already died down.

Elena woke while vomiting. Hannibal spoke gently to her in fluent Italian, assuring her everything was going to be fine. He had her lie down again, both to check her and to make sure she wouldn't see Il Medico's body on the floor. He examined her and found no reason to fear for her life anymore. The little girl cried for her mother. Hannibal assured Elena her mother would be there soon.

He noticed Clarice entering the room and leaving it soon after. He thought he heard her getting something from the table.

"Lie down, close your eyes now and try to sleep," he said and she did. He watched her as she fell asleep again slowly.

Knowing she was safe, Hannibal rose and walked out of the room.

.

Clarice guided Sergio out of the room and watched him bleed and gasp for breath.

_You got what you deserve, you sicko._

"I'm… not feeling well," Visconti spoke through his teeth gritted in pain.

Clarice stood in front of him, arms crossed over her chest. She looked at the flow of blood coming from his side and evaluated his physical situation. Clarice registered her own lack of empathy for this man at the same time. She simply knew too much about him.

_You've hurt children in the most despicable way. You let your own dark, forbidden lust prevail over the welfare of your own daughter, your own granddaughter and hell knows who else more!_

"Help me," he said and slumped to the ground.

"Just sit down and hold on," Clarice said and lowered herself to his level. She didn't touch him.

_Even worse, you're not alone. You took pictures and shared them with those other sick bastards. You disregarded the privacy of your victims in a most dreadful way. You didn't care about that. You don't care at all. All you care about is the fulfillment of your own perverted lust._

Clarice looked around. She didn't see anything to help her.

"Perhaps in Elena's room," she thought and rose.

"Where are you going? Don't leave me!" the old man called out.

"I'll be back soon, I need to get something for you," Clarice said.

_You hurt generations of women. You've screwed up their lives. It's something they'll always feel, something they'll keep experiencing whenever they see you._

_It must stop._

_It must end here and now._

Clarice stepped into Elena's room and found something useful on the table. A pencil. She returned to Visconti.

Hunching on her knees to his level again, she looked at him and slammed the pencil sideways through his chest, into his heart. No blood spattered, but it soaked through his shirt immediately.

A hand on her shoulder and Clarice rose. Hannibal held her by her shoulders. Clarice's face was a blank, until after a few moments she smiled, then hugged Hannibal.

"It's over," she said. [MB]

.

Hannibal Lecter was aware of the slight trembling in his hand as he ran it through Clarice Starling's hair. His analytic self categorized the tremors as the effects of an adrenaline rush, the result of dopamine flooding his system. But his deeper self, his essence that other men might call his soul, shook. Shook as his understanding of the woman before him shifted. Shook at the calm certainty he'd read in her eyes. And his body simply couldn't help but follow suit. She was magnificent. She was terrifying.

Clarice was the one to break their embrace.

"Elena is okay." Phrased as a question, but she said it as a statement.

At his nod, she continued, "Good. Very good. Okay, we need to move fast. The cameras outside have gotta go. Signora Visconti didn't know about them, so there's nothing to explain away." Her eyes strayed to Sergio Visconti's cooling body.

"There's one problem, my dear. Elena saw me, heard me. She'll speak of a man who helped her when her stomach ached in the middle of the night."

Clarice knew it was true, but was already shaking her head. "It doesn't matter. She's a child; children dream and get confused. I'll say my employer requested street surveillance; that's why I was here. I'll say there were lights going on and off and it worried me enough to bust in. I found Sergio dead in the hallway, Il Medico just in the room, stabbed. They must have killed each other in a struggle. Elena seemed ill, so I induced vomiting, knowing Il Medico's MO. If she thinks she heard a man's voice, she was mistaken."

Simple. Plausible.

Hannibal glanced to her gloved hands.

No fingerprints to worry about.

Clarice hadn't walked in here tonight with the intention to kill Visconti. Not consciously anyway. But the deeper recesses of her mind had served her well as she'd readied herself for the evening.

They had much to discuss.

Hannibal helped Clarice dismantle the handful of cameras, and then, encased in uneven shadows from the barest crescent of a moon, he pulled her body to his. His mouth sought hers with primal urgency. Their lips pressed together, nearly to the point of pain. Teeth clashed, and neither cared. Finally his tongue frantically stroked hers; if he kissed her deeply enough perhaps he would begin to fathom the woman in his arms.

Finally, reluctantly, he pulled away and left the Visconti residence so she could call her colleagues. [D]


	46. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42**

Ignazio sat alone in the windowless room. Ten minutes so far. The big clock right in front of him told him so. He didn't like the thing, the ticking loud and incessant. He wondered how long before someone would come. Tell him why he'd been brought here.

It wasn't for the forum. No, that couldn't be! They would have arrested and cuffed him for sure! Must be something with that bitch. She hadn't been home when he woke this morning. Yeah, must be something the matter with her, as always. Always something the matter with that woman. Damned nuisance, good-for-nothing-well-one-thing-perhaps, stupid brawd. Couldn't get pregnant and when she did she bore a weak one that died. Always trouble with that woman.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. His sleep had been disturbed by a stupid dream. He wished he was still in bed.

The soft sound of a door opening had him look. A tall man, some cop or shit, entered the room. Empty-handed. Okay, so this wasn't about him indeed. No file, no-one to back the pig up.

"Signore Bonmarito?"

"Yeah?"

"My name is Alessandro Corvo. How are you? Nobody offered anything?"

Ignazio looked at the table by reflex, then back at Corvo.

"I'll get you some coffee, hold on," he said and disappeared shortly out of sight. Bonmarito sighed. Yeah, he could use some coffee.

Corvo came back in again.

"They'll bring us some coffee in a moment," he said and sat down at the other side of the table. [MB]

Ignazio nodded and looked at Corvo expectantly.

Corvo cleared his throat once and fidgeted in his chair. His gaze was direct though, searching Ignazio's for...something.

"Signore Bonmarito, I'm afraid I have some hard news for you. Very hard news."

.

Perhaps an hour later Ignazio departed the Questura headquarters, his bewildered countenance unfeigned.

He hadn't known her. Hadn't known her at all.

Just as she hadn't known him.

.

In the same moment that a pudgy Italian man with sweat stains at his armpits walked out into Milan's afternoon sunlight, his thoughts consumed by his deceased, homicidal wife, a tall, attractive African American woman was sitting down for late morning coffee in her Washington D.C. townhouse.

All these years later Ardelia still blamed Clarice for her coffee addiction.

She flipped open her Mac and scanned her mail.

_Think of the devil._

Clicking on Clarice's latest correspondence, she didn't know what to expect. Gone was the cougar who playfully spoke of her young Italian lover. Dee knew she had met someone else, but for the first time in their friendship, intimate details were not disclosed. Clarice had finally met somebody that mattered. Through the tinges of jealousy, Dee had thought, _"Good of you girl. Good on you."_

But she still wasn't prepared for the letter before her.

**Dearest Dee,**

**I love you. I've finally learned that's all that matters. I thought to send you a gift, something to show how thankful I am for your beautiful, beautiful heart. **

**But no trinket could possibly compensate.**

**You were my family when I didn't have any. Thank you.**

**I can't explain my actions, but know that I am well. I sleep through the night now.**

**Don't try to get in touch with me.**

**I wish you the happiness that I've found.**

**C**

Ardelia read the words twice and then clicked on the attachment accompanying the mail. After a moment of loading, an image filled her screen. Two women stood side by side, faces shining with youth and exertion from a recent run, the pair clad in identical FBI t-shirts.

Through the stinging in her throat, Dee thought, once again, _"Good on you girl."_ [D]

.

Clarice Starling stood in Milan's fading light with Hannibal Lecter next to her. Their bodies cast dark shadows on the ground. Strangers might call upon this smiling couple to ask for directions, and would receive them in impeccable Italian, French or English from the gentleman, never guessing these two people probably should be both Milan's most valued and feared inhabitants.

Valued by anyone who wishes certain perverts six feet under; feared by exactly _that_ specific group of _gentlemen_ - had they known. But as of yet, Poseidon7243, ApolloPaean and the others did _not_ know.

Ironically, just as their victims had slept sound and supposedly secure _before_, they would sleep like that this night, unaware of the monsters lurking in the dark.

Because contrary to common belief, monsters do exist. [MB]

**Hello dearest members of this little nook in the Hanniverse; those of you who stayed with us during this journey. Sadly, we've reached the end of this experiment. We've had a great time writing this collab, we had a lot of fun blending our completely different writing styles into one voice. It was rewarding to hear you enjoyed our cooperation.**

**Our thanks to all who have followed our story.**

**Our sincere appreciation to all of you who have reviewed.**

**Big hugs and thanks go out to all of you who have supported us beyond that: LovingHannibal (a big thanks for translating!), Demeter1973, BookishGal. We love you guys.**

**We'll be taking a break now from writing collab. No plans have been made for a new fic, nor have we given thought if we'll continue on Hannific. But that doesn't mean we won't be writing anymore or collaborating anymore! Just stick around, wait and see…**

**Yours truly,**

**Duffie83 & Major Bachman**


	47. Chapter 43

Hello, dear reader.

I'm excited to share a sequel to Redemption is in progress. It's posted under MajorBachman's page and is titled Transcendence.

Warmest wishes to you,

Duffie83


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